


C'est la Vie

by Anonymous



Category: Corpse Husband - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, Youtube RPF
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, AroAce!OC, Aromantic, Asexual Character, Changing Tenses, Coming Out, Dubious Morality, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Acephobia, LGBTQ Themes, Mental Health Issues, Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Self-Indulgent, Slice of Life, Takes Place In 2019, There's a whole lot of hurt before we can even think about healing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, YouTube, and im not even close to being done hurting, cause I'm dumb, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:36:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 61,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Missy landed her dream job as a YouTuber.Moving down to Southern California was a huge undertaking, filled with unforeseen events and people she could never account for.Her neighbor Corpse was pretty cool, but life moves with or without your permission and they were just two separate people trying to survive themselves before they could meet each other in the middle.This is much more than a "I met a YouTuber look how fantastic my life's gotten" story. This is a story of people and experiences, and hardship. This is as real as I can make it, inscribing just how wonderful, horrible, awe inspiring, saddening, sickening, infuriating, and lovely it could all be.C'est la Vie
Comments: 143
Kudos: 214
Collections: Anonymous





	1. no quiero estar aquí - 1

**Author's Note:**

> If Corpse_Husband makes a statement that he is uncomfortable with fanfictions depicting himself in fantasy relationships, I'm taking this down immediately.
> 
> Honestly, I'm going through the process of accepting myself as AceAro and I process better by writing through my bullshit. I'll try my best to keep Corpse's autonomy within this fic, but it's pretty much a Self-Insertive fantasy where I move, have my dream job, and meet the guy whose videos/voice calms my anxiety. IDK if this type of story would ever be finished but i'll try my best to at least put ten chapters in. Here's to hoping.
> 
> Corpse_Husband has stated that he is Straight, and it is assumed that he is cis as well.
> 
> It is my own Self-Insert character that is AceAro and Androgynous.
> 
> He makes me calm.

Moving is awful.

Suddenly your stable home environment turns nomadic. In the points between the first box being packed away to the last cardboard being dumped, your entire life could be equated to the amount of space you can fit your things into a car. In that moment you are only tethered by hope and the strange sense of dissonance.

Missy was still in the process of moving into her new apartment and she couldn’t get over how _awful_ it all was. Her one bedroom place was small with thin walls and carpet that was still clean but with the impression of past footfalls flattening key walking points. One of the windows faced east which meant the dawn gave her an unwelcome early morning greeting and unfortunately no other window could give her a view of the sunset. The walls were thin enough to hear children on the bottom floor, and a muffled TV somewhere in her building, the air conditioner was screwed loosely on the side and rattled when turned on.

_It was both too loud and too quiet._

She was used to living with her family but circumstances had her moving to So-Cal. The rent was pretty cheap, the grocery store was within a fifteen minute walking distance, and even if the neighborhood was pretty shit, Missy could see herself growing comfortable. Of course, that would come only after she manages to unpack all of her belongings.

Papi promised to rent a truck next weekend to drag her mattress, bookshelves, and workstation to her new place but everything else she had was shoved into a car she had borrowed from a friend to take with her. He’ll take the car back with him when he left and Missy would have all of her stuff including her original mode of transportation.

Missy checked the time on her phone, having been working for hours before, and cursing herself violently for _being an idiot._

She hadn’t eaten yet, didn’t have any food in the fridge, and it was already sundown. She didn’t trust the neighborhood yet to go out just as _herself_. But she needed to eat and there was a market plaza down the street where she could buy the essentials. Rice, pasta, eggs, bread, and peanut butter. That’d tie her over until she got her next cheque and did a full restock of her fridge.

Checking the time once again, remembering now that the last time she ate was that morning when she bought a fresh fried egg burrito from a passing food vendor for three dollars, she changed out of her workout clothes and pulled on a college hoodie and a pair of pants she stole from her brother. Too long in the legs but it gave her a lot more room in the calves and thigh area while also clamping around her hips tight. Her finishing touch was putting on a pair of Timberlands and despite her short hair not being much issue she pulled her hoodie up.

Tucking her phone, wallet, and keys into her various pockets, she left her building with nary a sound, and having already memorized the streets and directions around her home she immediately took off walking, not wanting to look like she didn’t know where the fuck she was or that she didn’t belong on this particular block.

The more she would get to know her neighborhood, she was sure to grow more comfortable but having it be so soon, she couldn’t help but be paranoid that the worst was going to happen because she simply _didn’t know._

The neighborhood wasn’t that so bad. Most of the houses were built in the seventies, their lawns either completely dead or an unkept ecosystem of weeds. Apartment complexes popped up nearer to the city center than the suburbs but her place was almost delicately in the middle where complexes met projects. Mutts of various breeds barked on every corner and despite the cars that parked within every inch of space they could squeeze into, it was pretty quiet. The freeway was only half a mile away and sounded like the distant rush of wind from where she was at and she was grateful that she lived nowhere near train tracks. Regretfully, not that many stars shown out in the night sky clogged full of smog.

Time passed in a blur from when she spotted the well lit plaza of the neighborhood markets and to when she was trudging back home with all the food she needed either stuffed in her hoodie or down her pants.

_Paranoia was a bitch-and-a-half._

By the time she was at her building, she wanted to board herself back up in her apartment and never leave until her papi came for the weekend.

Her apartment complex was set up in multiple buildings, each building housing eight units on two floors. For her building, four doors faced the east and four to the west. A single stair and corridor connected the second floor units to the ground floor.The stair and corridor were narrow and she hated lingering for long because the air was always stagnant with the scent of dust and threatening mildew.

Upon entering her building, she had to stop at the base of the stair cause someone was already at the top and heading down. Stepping out of the way, she kept her eyes off the other but only took in a few noticeable details out of her peripheral. More than likely, the dude was her neighbor. If he wasn’t, it still wouldn’t hurt to take note that he wore dark clothes, was pretty young, and if she needed to, he was lanky enough that a good tackle would knock the wind outta him.

The interchange between him coming down and her going up was seamless, no unnecessary eye contact or awkward acknowledgment that the other existed.

_Just as she liked it._

Until she felt something shift in her pants and heard a loud _thump! thump! thump!_ of a box of pasta noodles slipping out and _waking up the goddamn dead_ as it landed on the base of the stair.

_Fuck shit damn,_ dude was at the doorway at the building and she didn’t want anything to make her stand out and now her existence was announced via traitorous _im-pasta_ noodles.

_She would have been hilarious if she hadn’t been so panicked._

Missy was already running down the stairs taking two at a time to get the box and make it out of there as fast as possible but before she could even reach down, someone else was already there, picking up the box and handing it over.

Dude’s face was half covered by a black medical mask and yet still she could see his amusement. _Goddamn it._ “Not a clean getaway if you get caught at the last second.”

_Ho-ly shit._ Dude’s voice could stop capital 'G' _God,_ it was so deep. It made Missy want to cock her head to the side for a listen but she still wasn’t too keen on lingering long for a conversation. She took the box of pasta from him and only then registered what he had said and in what context.

_Fuck, he probably thought she had stole the pasta._

_What a way to greet the neighbors._

“Not caught if you don’t talk,” she said, turning her body away but still keeping her attention on him cause god forbid if she appeared to be rude. Papi didn’t raise an unmannered heathen.

“You thirty-six?” he asked, sticking his hands in his pockets and Missy got the sense that the dude was just as much looking for a way out as she was.

Thirty-six was her apartment number and she didn’t really want to tell him how correct he was because then he would know where she lived. He would know a pasta thief lived next door and she still didn’t want any sort of recognition between her and her home. But to deny it was stupid. She was still on the stairs and if he was an actual neighbor he would know which unit was empty and ready for occupants.

“Yeah,” was her only reply.

He nodded his head and with a quick nod to his head, he left the building saying, “See ya,” behind him.

_Thank fuck he left cause she wanted nothing more than to do the same._

Missy nearly crashed into her apartment, slamming the door shut and unloading her groceries (all paid for thank you very much) onto the kitchen counter. Her first interaction with her neighbor was so fresh in her mind that she couldn’t help but duck her head and fold in on herself in total mortification.

_Shit._ Her first interaction with someone from the neighborhood and now she'll probably always be remembered as The Pasta Thief.

What a way to go.


	2. no quiero estar aquí - 2

Missy stood on the sidewalk, watching the uHaul truck as it slowed to a stop in front of her. She gave a short wave before ending the call on her phone and putting it away.

“‘Ey Papa,” she greeted as her father got out of the truck and lapped over to her.

“Hey Missy!” he called her by her nickname, wrapping his thick arms around her middle to lift her in a hearty hug. She groaned in complaint but dealt with it, knowing that nothing would actually stop him from doing anything and everything to embarrass her.

“Good drive down?” she asked once released. He smiled at her wide, his one missing molar making his already toothy grin appear toothier.

“Tired,” he said, “Drove down Friday to stop by the beach for the day.”

“You could go back after dropping my stuff off,” she said, knowing her papi’s love for swimming in the ocean often supersedes anything that might distract him.

“No,” he said with a shake to his head, “I’ll help you set up. We’ll be finished by tomorrow and go back to the beach then. Would you want to come with me?”

“Ask me when we’re finished,” Missy said before letting her papi unlock the uHaul truck’s door and swing it open. Her eyes landed on her most prized possession and an excited whine left her throat as her hands made grabby hands for a touch.

Papi laughed, “Have you already looked into storage? It’ll be the last thing we unload but I wouldn’t want it to be left out here.”

“I looked around and seen some good rates but I haven’t called any places yet,” she said, running her fingers over the cool metal and worn handlebars before grabbing the wooden ramp and hand truck to set up.

She didn’t have much to move from the moving van to her apartment. Her workstation was in easy pieces, a few heavy totes that didn’t fit the first time were easily taken upstairs and her heavy book shelves were an easy two man job.

_The issue was her goddamn mattress._

“Are you pulling?!” demanded her papi at the bottom of the stair and carrying the heavier point of the mattress in an awkward position.

“It’s not budging unless I bend it at the middle,” Missy explained, tilting her end of the mattress to test again if a sideways approach could sneak the width of the mattress past the narrow opening of the second floor to the stair.

“Would it help if we switch?”

“Maybe,” she said before sharply cutting off her papa before he could say another word, “We’re not cutting my mattress in half.”

“I wasn’t gonna say that!” he lied, “If we cut the second flooring will the complex manager notice?”

“Not if no one else notices and don’t tempt me,” Missy said with a smile, “Let’s first try to fold and shove. Unless you want to switch places first?”

Her papa looked away from her to something over her shoulder calling out, “Sorry we’re in your way! Heading out? We’ll move.”

“Need help?”

The deep resonating voice and appearance of a stranger startled Missy bad enough to make her jump. _Fuck, it was the dude._ Still wearing dark clothes, still wearing a mask, and most definitely her neighbor judging by the set of keys he held in his hand.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” her papa said with his usual exuberant smile, most probably thinking the best out of the young man who looked more like a drug dealer than someone reputable. “Grab that end. Missy, you be in the middle.”

Instinct moved her to obey her papa without hesitation, sliding herself against the wall to place two hands against the top part of the mattress and pushing down until the edge didn’t touch the second flooring.

“Good,” she called out, not even checking if her neighbor actually was in position to both lift and pull her mattress. Her papa didn’t check either, pushing the mattress up the stairs and trusting that the stranger had the other end.

Surprisingly, The Dude was ready and willing to help. Or, at least it was surprising to her. In no time at all, the mattress was up past the stairs and leaning against the wall. It was her papa that turned to greet him first.

“Thanks for the help! Really appreciated it.”

“No problem,” he said in a low rumble. Her papa was already pushing the mattress the rest of the way into her apartment, the neighbor finally seeing the stairway free and taking it down. Missy, at the bottom of the stair, found that this was the perfect time to head to the truck to lift the buildable mattress box.

“Stealing and property damage. Real criminals I got for new neighbors.”

_Jesus -fucking- Christ_ she will never get used to his baritone voice. If bourbon was served with a handful of shrapnel, he had to gargle it every morning before drinking paint thinner mixed in his coffee. Kinda intimidating admittingly and fucking hell did it make her want to perk up and listen closer.

_It was probably some primeval instinct her ancient ancestors inscribed into their DNA: listen out for shifting tectonic plates._

Then she actually understood what he was saying and where he was coming from and she wanted to toss herself off a cliff. _Fuck,_ he had heard her papi and her joking about cutting into the second flooring.

Obviously it was a joke but with the extra context of herself being a "thief", it probably made her shady as all hell. Was dying of mortification a thing?

“So says the drug dealer,” she tossed back, kinda rudely admittingly but what better way to get out of an accusation than to toss an accusation back?

“I’m not a drug dealer,” he said, tone turning sharp and it made her actually stop and look at her neighbor.

Dark clothes, face and head covered in a beanie and cloth medical mask, black converse that probably seen better days five years ago. She would admit that it was harsh to accuse someone of drug dealing, especially when this Dude kinda looked like her brother in the sense of being a normal punk who would go deaf in a few years from blasting Rage Against the Machine before sleep like a nightly lullaby.

“You’re right,” Missy said, easily falling into her usual tactics of conversational maneuvering, “Arsonist, right? I would say anarchist but that’s so obvious, you must be something else. Hitman and/or assassin is a little too on the nose as well. If you are, get a new style. You're pretty much screaming how much you would rather be committing murder than being an upstanding member of society.”

He laughed.

_Fuck yes, success, thoroughly distracting him from her fuck up and giving him an opening to go away._

“Never been accused of arson before,” he said when he laugh tittered off, “But I have of murder.”

_Okay, despite her innate desire to end this conversation as soon as possible she was curious. But not too curious to actually ask about it._

“Not surprising,” Missy said, starting again to walk to the moving van. “Is it just the FBI or CIA looking for you?”

Another laugh, shorter this time. She had surprised him by her first reply but now he was either catching onto her tactics or he was finding a rhythm to her inane topics to actually follow. Both options didn’t mean well for her. _Shit. Dude, get a hint, don’t you have somewhere to be?_

“Neither. I’m too good to get caught. Unlike a certain pasta thief.”

_Motherfucker he’s the type to never let shit go._ Why the hell is he lingering? Why the hell is he talking to her? Is it too rude to tell him to fuck off? Goddamn it, her job was making social interactions so much more confusing.

“I did buy that you know,” she said, finally reaching the truck but not taking her eyes off the relative stranger who had incidentally taken the same path as her. “If I were to steal something, it would be something better than pasta noodles. Steak. Vodka. Cake. A tub of ice cream.”

“How the fuck would you steal a tub of ice cream?”

_Huh,_ despite Missy wanting to shy away from any and all social interaction, the dude’s casual use of curse words and emphasis was...endearing. It reminded her of her old friends and how they talked and laughed with her. Dude could honestly be cool but she was still trying to wrap up the conversation for a perfect ending. _May they never talk again._ Leave him knowing that she’s a normal person of no interests who may or may not have a habit of shoving groceries down her pants when carrying bags aren’t an option.

“I’d wear a long skirt,” she said thinking fast, “Walk at a stride but have a belt and rope to tie the ice cream to dangle between my knees.”

It was probably the imagery that sent him into stifled chuckles. Missy couldn’t help but smile and continue planning her supposed ice cream heist. “Either that or a baggy jacket with a pocket built into the inner lying. Tuck it into the small of my back. If the pint of ice cream were small enough I can just get by with a hoodie, tuck it into my hood when it's down.”

“If you get caught?” he asked cause he was a piece of shit who didn’t believe in her abilities to shoplift a whole grocery aisle.

“Run,” she said with a shrug, “Loss prevention only have power within their allotted territory. Moment I leave the building, I’m free baby.”

“Okay, really not helping your case that you’re not a thief.”

_Goddamn him and goddamn her for waking up that morning._ When is this ever going to stop? Admittingly, it was pretty nice, but fucking hell she didn’t even know his name nor his intentions. Was he just being friendly? Did he want something from her? Was he casing her belongings?

“I said I didn’t steal the pasta, not that I’m not a thief,” she said, purposely being vague even though the last time she stole something was back in high school and her friends made a bet for how much shit they could steal within a single store. Her and a friend tied. They went out for Round Table pizza afterwards.

“A real cat burglar then,” he mused and she wanted to correct him on the reference but held her tongue.

_Alright, where he left off would be the perfect segway for a goodbye._ Missy gathered up four parts of the buildable box mattress, wishing that the hand truck hadn’t been left upstairs, and was startled when she turned to see her neighbor at her side and picking up the other four.

“Oh, you don’t have to really, I can-”

“I’ll help,” he said, shuffling the parts in his arms before straightening.

Missy wasn’t so much of an idiot as to refuse an extra pair of hands and she wasn’t so much of a bitch to demand he not go anywhere near her stuff. So she just shifted her own burden and started off back to the stairs. Dude followed after and she tried her best not to let her anxiety run rampant and think the worst cause obviously _he was an axe murderer._

Back in the apartment, her papa was on one knee, hand drill in hand and switching the 'little bitch' half-inch screws with heavy duty three inch motherfuckers and a heavier lock. One look at the kitchen counter and Missy knew that he was also planning on installing a doorstop next.

The living room was a mess, mattress leaning against the wall halfway through to the bedroom. Her bookshelves were situated unnaturally and looking more cumbersome than usual, boxes and totes piled every which way with haphazard organization of what fit where and much less what was what.

"You grabbed the last of the stuff?" Her papi asked, not stopping from making quick work drilling in her new lock.

"Everything's out," she said, dumping the rest of her stuff in a corner for her neighbor to drop his burden and leave.

"Is that your bike in the van?" Dude asked her papa.

"Nope!" He asked, rising to his feet once he was done screwing around, old lock parts in one meaty fist, "That'd be Missy's bike."

She didn't even have to look to know her neighbor was looking at her with surprise. It was everyone's reaction to finding out she owned and drove a motorcycle.

"2018 Yamaha V-Star 250," she said perfectly, "Papa's bike is back home."

"Didn't want to make the long drive back!" He said with a grin before turning inquisitive shining eyes to her neighbor, "You ride or want to start learning?"

Missy wanted to roll her eyes but she was so used to listening to her papi gush to new riders and people the rush and freedom of riding a motorcycle. _He would never let go of that first honeymoon love._

"Sorry, don't think I got your name. You are?"

Her papa stuck out his hand and she was struck by the difference between the two. They were the same height, both taller than her by a good margin, but where her father was dark skinned, broad shouldered, heavy gut, salt and pepper hair and goatee The Dude was the exact opposite.

_Thank fuck her papa was asking cause she had been calling her neighbor “Dude” this whole time and it almost warranted the capitalization._

"Corpse," her neighbor introduced himself, shaking her papa's hand.

Her papa laughed, "Good name! Same as my daughter. Her name isn't Missy, she came back home one day having chosen it for herself."

"Papa," she interrupted before he could continue, "Corpse probably needs to leave. He helped us out a bit but he was just leaving to go about his own business."

He smiled once again, laugh lines and crinkles stretching as if his joy could barely be contained.

"Oh sorry if we took much of your time. Good to meet you!"

"You too sir," he said before turning to Missy who decided to bite the bullet before she lost her nerve.

"Do you like banana bread?"

_He must think she's a goddamn idiot, having had no conversation yet that hinged on rationality or connecting to previous discussions._

"Uh yeah."

"Not allergic to anything? Eggs, wheat, cinnamon, nuts, dairy, or anything?"

"I don't-why are you asking?"

"You helped us," she said as if that could explain everything before shrugging her shoulders, "I'll bake you banana bread as thank you. Answer my questions: are you allergic to anything?"

It was almost cute how much he stumbled over his answer but she was more focused on mentally substituting ingredients to make it more Corpse friendly.

_There's a joke in there somewhere._

"You don't have to cook me anything," he said while stepping out of her doorway.

"You didn't have to help," Missy said, now really motivated to actually bake something out of spite of his humility.

“It’s not help if you paid me with baked goods.”

_Okay now he was just being stubborn. Fine but Missy could out stubborn anybody._

“Drats, you’ve foiled my plot in poisoning you with bread,” she said with a click to her teeth, “Gonna hafta try a new plan. How are you and your resistance against C4?”

Another laugh, quieter, at least it made the tension in his shoulders loosen up.

It was only after he left and she had shut the door did Missy realize that _fuck,_ she had an actual nice conversation with her neighbor. _A repertoire._ He might try to talk to her again. Wait, _shit,_ she’ll be the one that’ll have to talk to him first cause she has a banana bread to hand off. Could she just...toss it in his face and be done with it? Wouldn’t that be considered assault? _Fucking shit,_ by the end of the month he’ll probably think Missy was a goddamn lunatic and call the cops on her himself.

When she turned back, her papi was leaning against the counter, a massive grin on his face and a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“I like ‘im!”

“NO.”


	3. i was really fuckin' hopin' it'd be different this year - 1

Knocking on Corpse’s door was  _ agony. _

Missy had to figure out where he lived first. Piece of shit never properly introduced himself (oh how he wished he hadn’t then maybe she wouldn’t be in this mess) and never dropped the tidbit on exactly which unit he occupied. There were four doors on her floor and there was no possible way for her to actually know where he came from because whenever he appeared it was always at the stairway.

Only way she could find out was to spy on the stairs. Was it creepy? Yes. Was it boring? It was worse than boring. She figured out her other two neighbors' routines before she even had a glimpse of Corpse. The neighbor adjacent from her door was a portly old guy with a tiny dog that he took out six times a day for walks and bathroom breaks. There was a couple that lived on her floor but she wasn’t sure if they were her eastside neighbors or westside. They were pretty busy people, almost trading off their shifts with one another and barely catching a break.

The amount of time it took for her to finally hear heavy, unfamiliar footsteps was just when she was familiar with her block.

Despite her anxiety, Missy went out on walks every morning, bright and early, before sunrise and when everybody was finally quiet. It was the only time she trusted that no one would accost her or notice how out of place she was. Her biological clock would wake herself up at six o’clock on the dot and she’d be off, wearing a hoodie and a pair of sweats to walk off the last dregs of sleep. She’d be back home by eight, just when the first few scenes of people start coming out of their homes to go about their day.

Except Corpse never followed the normal laws of social convenience.

Was it so hard for him to just make a sign in blinking neon reading ‘CORPSE LIVES HERE’ so that she can hand off her stupid banana nut bread and forget about all thier interactions? He could make everything so much easier if he would fucking make some noise to let her pinpoint where he lived, just for once, she’d forget about it soon anyways, its not important.

But no, she had to wait for a literal week before she heard him come up the stairs.

How the fuck was he able to sneak past her in the first place? Also, why the fuck was he walking around at eleven at night? Thats horrible.

Missy, as quietly as possible, peeped out of her little peep hole in the door, catching sight of his head and dark jacket first to assure that yes, this was Corpse and not someone else who was stomping up the stairs.

She felt so fucking creepy spying on him like that but all she needed was to know where he lived and she didn’t even have to leave her house to figure that out.

He paused at the top of the stair, reaching into his pocket for keys, and she crossed her fingers to pray that he lived across from her to the east and wasn’t the westside neighbor. She would rather listen to the couple having sex with their too thin walls than to have him share a bedroom wall with her. Their units were mirrored, east-to-westside, so their bedrooms were only separated by a single wall.

Finally, he got his keys out, shifting the shopping bag in his hand and he stepped right past the eastside door and continued out of her sight.

Missy’s breath remained caught in her throat as she heard keys, the jiggle of a doorknob, and finally the door opening to the westside apartment to her own. Number thirty-six.

Shit. Bedroom neighbor. He probably heard her shouting the other day over call. How embarrassing.

Besides feeling like a major creep, Missy has been working nonstop getting her life back together after it was so easily dismantled.

Her bedroom had been so easily put back together, having never really felt the need for unnecessary clutter. Her main issue was her workspace. Her job granted her the privilege of working from home and though she could honestly downsize everything to just her camera tripod, camera, and laptop, she would really rather not. Especially since the major bulk of the things she owned were needed for a fiber artist.

She was a fiber artist by trade and by chance did she get into posting videos for YouTube as her career. Missy wasn’t the most popular fiber artist YouTuber, especially since she was a rather young woman and didn’t have the look of a “seasoned professional” which was complete bullshit, but her main draw was the younger crowd. Newer generation of people looking into fiber arts, find her channel, and subscribe but there was a disconnect between newer people just looking for a quick small project and the older generation that thrived on larger, more technically complicated projects.

So for her videos, she needed all of her supplies there and ready to both use and show off. Her bedroom was completely off limits because if she had everything by her bed she would neer leave the comfort of her room. But her abode was so small that there was barely an area to call a “dining room” that was separate from the living room. And she wanted that separation because...what if her friends came over? What if future friends came over? Holy shit what if her family came over and there was nowhere to sit and eat because she transformed her apartment into a goddamn yarn store?

Decisions, decisions.

But then again, she didn’t have to keep everything out and lying about for her own viewing pleasure. Decision made, Missy set up her desk and workstation but left all of her supplies in neatly organized rows and columns against a wall. Did it look ugly? Yes. Was she still unsettled by the move and slightly anxious over having to do it again sometime soon? Also yes.

She had bought food and restocked her fridge the moment her bike was set up at a local storage unit, a mere five minute walk from her building. The staples of life, and the items she knew she had to have immediately: spices, flour, baking soda and yeast.

The yeast being the most important purchase.

Sure she needed cooking supplies, cutlery, and dishes from the local thrift. But the prospect of actual freshly baked bread?

_ Fuck yes. _

But also she needed actual ingredients for her banana bread.

Missy kept her ingredients simple and homebaked, mixed from scratch and experience. One of the easiest ways to naturally take in potassium was to eat bananas, except her brother had the weirdest dislike over eating foods raw, especially fruits. When his muscles started cramping up, she memorized the recipe into her very bones and began making good banana bread for her brother to eat. Suddenly it became a staple in her household.

As she started actually making the bread, her anxious always-planning-ahead brain decided to remind her,  _ ‘Wait, you don’t even know if he’ll even be home when its done.’ _

_ Fuck, shit, damn _ well fuck it, she was already making the thing, if he gets the loaf cold then thats his problem, not hers. May he eat and realize that her boring bread could only come from a boring person and take the extra initiative to  _ not  _ talk to her ever again.

Flour, butter, salt, baking powder, oil, mashed bananas, honey, nutmeg powder and cinnamon. Done. Her papi couldn’t eat overly sweetened foods or else his health issue would come up from behind and kick everyone’s ass.

Baking was easy. Letting it cool gave her more than enough time to clean up her kitchen and choose a plate for presentation purposes. Damn, and she just bought the plate too. White ceramic with a tiny chip on the side, a small wreath of roses surrounding the border like your grandmother’s favorite dishes from the fifties.

Finally the moment of truth. She’ll have to leave her apartment, go knock on his door, and hand it off without either embarrassing herself or encouraging any notion that she’s friendly enough to continue social contact.

Missy had to stop and breathe for a second, her stomach twisting into knots and heart racing up in her ears.

_ Fuck fuck fuck fucking goddamn _ all she has to do is knock. She could do this. She could actually get over herself and do something normal for once in her life. Missy could do this. She can talk to regular people normally. She didn’t need to freak out; she could do this. All she needs to do is put on her “White-passing” facade and put on a cheerful disposition without a single crack of ever being open for further interaction. She could do it. She just needs to  _ get over herself. _

_ Get over yourself. _

_ Get over yourself. _

_ You can walk, use your two feet and fucking move motherfucker. _ **_Get over yourself._ **

Missy breathed in slow through her nose… exhaled by her mouth in a violent gush of air, the noise around her ears finally a dim static.

She grabbed the plate of freshly baked and rested banana bread and left her apartment, marching next door to fifty-six and knocking with soft but rampant knuckles. Stepping back, she had the most horrible thought of,  _ ‘This is agony,’ _ as she stood there waiting for a neighbor she didn’t even know was behind the door.

Briefly she imagined the alternative future of having to go back to her apartment with a still cooling bread, having to do this all again once she catches him on the stair.

She dreaded that outcome. Already she was nauseous from that prospect, having to gather her courage once again, sike herself out of circling the same drain of thoughts stuck in loop.

The door popped open, surprising her briefly cause she hadn’t heard anyone behind the door. Corpse stood there, looking worse for wear and before he could say a thing she thrust out her plate of banana bread with a false smile on her face, facade sliding perfectly over to hide her fraying nerves.

“I think this is yours,” she said and he instinctively reached up to take the plate from her.

But he didn’t actually take it from her just yet, fingers loosely holding the edge as he continued to stare at her in confusion.

“I told you, you didn’t need to cook me anything.”

_ Stubborn piece of shit, _ Missy rolled her eyes and pushed the plate further towards him saying, “Too bad but I already did. It’s yours now, no take backs. I baked it for you, thank you for helping me move my stuff when you didn’t have to.”

His fingers were finally taking hold of the plate she was shoving at him, Corpse looked down in between the plate and her, his black medical mask covering the more complex emotions across his face beyond confusion and bewilderment. Testily, she loosened her own hold over the plate and he grabbed the plate before it could crash in between them. Satisfied, she let go and left him with the food, stepping back with a bright and cheery smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m not expecting that plate back, hope you enjoy!”

_ God,  _ how do people actually leave interactions like this with their dignity intact? Maybe that’d convince him to never turn a greeting her way, let him deny that she existed as his neighbor. When his friends ask about the new person next door, let him shrug his shoulders with a,  _ ‘Don’t know the bitch.’ _

“I might not be able to eat all of this.”

_ Her facade shattered. _

Corpse’s deep throated response stripped away that stupid “White-passing” fascade that worked so well for her in nearly all social settings. Hearing...hearing him admit that he might not eat the whole thing, that her effort may be wasted on his palette…  _ it was almost insulting. _ Almost. Missy felt just the slightest sting of rejection before a cold rush of indifference covered her anxious nerves with a layer of numb apathy.

She turned back to him, already at her apartment door and said, “Then feed it to the chihuahua. The cyanide I slipped in’ll help us all out.”

Door shut, lock turned. Missy stood at her door for a few minutes rethinking their entire interaction and felt the apathy turn itself into petty  _ bitterness. _

Was she overreacting? Probably. Yes most definitely. She’ll get over it.

But for now she felt angry. Angry at him but mostly angry at herself.

She shouldn’t have...if she had known, she wouldn’t have put so much effort. A slice of banana bread would have been enough. A Hallmark card reading _ , ‘Thank you’. _ Silence.

Missy gave a stranger a full loaf of her banana bread, something she usually reserved for her family and close friends.  _ Oh God, _ the hindsight psychoanalyse really was twenty-twenty,  _ fucking goddamn it. _ She was an idiot. A fucking idiot. You don’t fucking _...shit. _

No wonder why it felt like he spat in her face with that stupid ‘might not eat all of it’ remark _ Jesus motherfucking Christ _ she was so pathetic. _ Oh shit, _ and she offered her bread in front of Papi, did he catch it? Did he know before this? Why didn’t he tell her? Would he have told her? Did he even know?

_ Get over yourself. _

He probably didn’t know, at least he isn’t the overthinking bitch stuck in the throes of self-doubt and bitterness that she always seemed to get herself in. No, that was just Missy.

_ Fuck,  _ she was going to vomit. Anxiety and her stupid brain had perfected their one-two punch years ago and it always left her reeling. The apartment still stank of banana bread and it made her sick. When’s the last time she ate? Did she need to eat something soon? She didn’t want to vomit stomach acid if her stomach was empty. What was she going to eat for dinner? Could she eat something? Could she stand eating? God, she hated it when her eating schedule was affected. Can she put food in her mouth and swallow or is the growing pool of saliva in her mouth just a sign of how she needed a trash bin  _ right the fuck now. _

_ There was a knock on the door. _

Solid. Two raps.

Missy didn’t even hear anyone approach. How long has she been sitting with her back against the door? She checked the time on her phone first, not surprised at all to find three hours have since passed.

_ Shit. Not too bad but she needed to pick herself back up again. _

Rising to her feet, she checked the peep hole of her door to find no one there. What the fuck, she didn’t hear them approach or leave. Were they purposely stepping quietly or was she so far gone that she’d have missed a train?

She opened her front door to check the corridor but immediately she saw what was left behind on her doorstep.

She picked up the empty plate, loosen banana bread crumbles scattered but not there for obnoxious display. A lazily scrawled note laid on top reading,

_ ‘Thanks. It was good.’ _


	4. woe is me, l'appel du vide - 1

His new neighbor wasn’t a paranoid crackhead on parole like the last guy who barricaded his door when the cops were called and tried to run when there was a good odd number of eleven officers surrounding the building.

First time he met them was when a box of pasta fell out of their pants when they passed each other on the stairs. It had to have been one of his more memorable first impressions, meeting his new neighbor who was hungry enough to steal groceries. He wasn’t gonna snitch on that.

He was slightly taken aback by them cause he could have sworn the other as a guy when he first passed by, only to turn around to see their face and notice the feminine swell of her lips and wide eyes. Was she…? No wait, he shouldn’t assign pronouns just yet. They could straight up be a ‘they’ more than a ‘he’ or ‘she’. That’d be cool.

Corpse couldn’t quote what they said to each other, his sleep deprived brain taking a lot of details out of that night. But then a couple days later he’d see them again with their dad. They were dressed out of their more masculine clothes and as he helped them take up their things they struck up a conversation.

She was funny and he laughed.

She was definitely a ‘she/her’ because her dad introduced Missy as ‘daughter’. Still cool, whatever, none of his business to know anyways. She was only his neighbor, nothing special.

And then she gave him banana bread.

With GERD as bad as his, eating foods that were sugar soaked was a  _ nightmare _ so being handed a sort of dessert bread with no knowledge of what Missy’s recipe was was a test to his endurance and…

_ She got pissed at him for whatever reason. _

Really ticked her off when he admitted that he might not be  _ able  _ to eat the entirety of a single loaf of banana bread no matter how good it tasted or smelled. It was just a simple fact of health issues and how he needed to supervise his own diet. Missy said something and despite how it kinda went along to her overdramatic-wicked humor, it came out a little too sharp.

She left him with a slam to her door, a chipped plate in his hand, and the most amazing smelling banana bread in his grasp. Fucking incredible. World record right there. Pissed someone off in collectively twenty minutes. Should get a fucking trophy for that.

He took a bite cause he kinda felt bad for her. Obviously she baked something for him with good intentions and cause his life liked to rip away all the little joys out of his hands, he probably couldn’t eat the whole thing but he could at least take a bite.

_ Oh. _

It was good. Real good. Kinda dense but that wasn’t bad in any way. The cinnamon was nice and there was a hint of something nutty in the mix without him biting down on chunks. Best of all? It wasn’t too sweet. It was about as sweet as a simple pound cake and before he knew it, he had eaten all of it.

That was a damn good bread and he still had his neighbor’s plate. Shit, he’s gonna have to give it back. But what if she was still pissed off for whatever reason? Oh well, he left the plate at her door with a compliments to the baker.

That was a week and a half ago.

Never seen hide nor hair of his new neighbor. In the duration, he had been too focused on creating new beats that were rattling around his head to actually pay attention. Writing down half sentences that’d fit in a song he hasn’t named yet.

Reading the stories pouring in, the creepy, scary, and terrible stories that read more like confessions than anything fiction. Alot of the stories submitted he couldn’t make videos over, but those he thought had a chance he always saved to combo with other similar stories. True late night shifts, real supernatural encounters, ouija board experiences, horrible tales of walking in the dark, strange meetings, ect. It always took a while to actually collect enough good stories together to make a narration video he’d be happy to post and it took up so much of his time.

He had been reading a story from his email, lying in bed and generally relaxing when he heard something.

Something on the other side of the wall.

Shit, it's his neighbor, they shared a wall. Why didn’t he ever think about that? Did he get used to the silence when that apartment was empty that it slipped his mind?

_ “...this is...assuming...and you are not...its complete bullshit.” _

He couldn’t hear the entire conversation but suddenly at the venomous last remark he wanted to listen closer. His neighbor Missy wasn’t shouting but her voice was pretty strong by itself. It was easy to just lean closer and listen in on the conversation she was having.

It wasn’t eavesdropping. It was simply listening into a loud conversation.

Nothing secret about that.

_ “She can’t control her mental health cause mental illness isn’t controllable like that! So to excuse her actions with the stupid excuse of, ‘Oh I was depressed’ is shitty and disgustingly pitying. No! Don’t pity her! It’s just pathetic!” _

What…? What is this? Who was she talking to? Is...does she really believe that? God, his neighbor traded themself out from crackhead to an ignorant bigot. Fuck, he wouldn’t have thought that of her. Goes to show how people change behind closed doors.

_ “She took on the responsibility of your whole team! This isn’t high school anymore, it’s your job! It’s her job to lead you guys on this project and for her to suddenly drop out of all work related meetings with absolutely no excuse or forewarning until now-until the project is done and passed! And now suddenly she’s offering the excuse of ‘Oh I was depressed’ is inexcusable! _

_ “A month! A whole month she had to come forward and hand off the reins of leadership to someone else. It’s unprofessional and negligent of her to 1. Not admit to herself that your work project was a stressful trigger for her depression and that she needed to take a step back and 2. That there were other people who depended on her leadership for their job! Entire careers could have been hinged on this and she fucked right on off! _

_ “No. No! Has this been reported yet? I don’t give two shits if she’s a friendly face, such behaviour has to be punished. Your job was on the line! Other people’s jobs were on the line! If she didn’t have the balls to hand it over to someone who isn’t having a mental breakdown at the right time, then she doesn’t deserve any leadership role. Fuck off with that!” _

Silence on the other end.

The more she talked to whoever she was talking to, the louder and angrier she got. No, not angry, it wasn’t a personal anger, it was vicarious. Angry for someone else’s sake. Also, uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh so she isn’t ignorant to mental illness?

_ “Dear Missy Mess,” _ he heard on the other side of the wall and he grew even more confused. Wait a minute, was she reading letters? Emails? And the name, Missy Mess, that sounded like something. If he went by Corpse Husband online, did she…?

_ “Dear Missy Mess, my best friend-” _ Did she work at some advice forum? Was she on call or doing a video?

_ “-friends with benefits-” _ Corpse already had his phone at hand so he quickly opened a new tab to do just a little research.

_ “-cutting herself off from everyone-” _ Google search: Missy Mess. First thing that popped up was a YouTube channel.

Bright, colorful, professional looking thumbnails with a few headshots of Missy herself. But her channel didn’t seem to match whatever the hell she was doing on the opposite side of the wall.

Her channel was crochet and knitting based. DIY clothing that ranged all the seasons. All of her thumbnails and titles were related to something with yarn and though he never really explored this side of YouTube, there was nothing else that might suggest she had a sort of relationship advice side channel.

_ “What do you advise? Love, @cupcakprincess375. Well princess, there’s about twelve red flags poppin’ up. Let’s start with-” _

A thumbnail caught his eye, the title reading, “CURSE OF THE KNIT SWEATER” with a photo of Missy wearing said sweater, but modeling with an intense expression of being so unimpressed with the viewer. The sweater itself looked like a knit costume sweater from the set of The Walking Dead, purposely ripped in places and looking grunge as fuck.

Popping in his headphones into his phone and ignoring Missy talk, he started the video.

It started with an armful of dark green and black yarn being dumped onto a clean desk. Missy taking a seat and viciously stabbing the balls of yarn with a long set of knitting needles. She looked into the camera, eyes wide and the same toothy grin she seemed to share with her dad spread across her face in a sneer.

On screen she said,  _ “To break up with your almost-ex while looking like a bad bitch, you need a couple of things. Firstly, some size eight, six-point-five millimeter needles that could be used as a murder weapon and the guts to actually continue watching this video until the end. Let’s get messy.” _

The video continued and he was  _ enthralled. _

~X~

Missy got the call at four.

She hadn’t been expecting it. Hadn’t even wanted the call despite exactly who was calling her. Her best friend, Hanks, was calling her and it had to be about one thing _. She wanted to cry. _

She stopped washing dishes to pick up her phone and answer. It was no use to her to simply ignore her own social circle despite having moved across a few hundred miles. To simply ignore it would be to deny it ever happened. To deny it would only silence the pain of the victims.

“‘Eyyo,” she said quietly, leaning against the counter cause she knew this was going to suck.

“‘Eyyyyyy you,” greeted her best friend Hanks. Hanks was the most dominant personality of their friend group, kinda feeding into his Alpha-pack mentality that he needs to keep watch and protect his chosen “pack members”. What happened hurt him the hardest.

“It’s four, don’t you have to go to work soon?” Missy asked cause everyone likes to talk about simple things.

_ Or not. _

“Another one came forward,” he said, the silent kitchen feeling so much lonelier to her at such bad news, “Her name is Sarah, she came forward to provide evidence that Ryan was talking to her when she was a minor.”

The truth made her sway in place, her eyes losing focus as horror surmounted within her. Her heart and stomach squeezed in some imagined pain, tears prickling her eyes cause it was horrible,  _ everything was horrible. _

Ryan. Their friend Ryan. The one who made jokes, who knew every good eating spot in San Francisco and Berkeley. Who she welcomed at her table and ate her food. Who she felt safe around when she went over to his house for parties and get togethers. The same Ryan who played video games with them. The one who they all trusted and loved.

_ It turns out he’s been fucking teenagers for years. _

They didn’t know. Nobody knew, cause it was nobody's business who was fucking who but one day Ryan was out with Cy, Raymond, and Hanks when suddenly a college freshman started screaming and crying at the sight of her rapist. Hanks got the story from the young woman and everything else came forward.

Cy was the one who found them all. He wanted to be a police officer and running a personal investigation against a friend seemed more like practice than anything. Perhaps Cy would find only one. Maybe their age difference wasn’t so bad. Maybe she lied.

_ No. _

_ There were more. _

Some were “flings” and others were obvious emotional manipulation and grooming examples.  _ It was sickening. _ It hurt so much cause there were no signs that she had seen that Ryan was such a monster. Missy had moved away for unrelated reasons than the complete devastation of their friend group but she still heard about the fallout. Parents were called. There was alot of screaming over the phone. Cy might have punched Ryan in the face.

Missy wasn’t around to be completely in the know of what was happening. She didn’t know if the police were called, if charges were pressed, if parents issued restraining orders. She was under the impression that her friend group was closing ranks. _ But not closing ranks in the way that could be an advantage to the creep. _

“Are you going to kill him?” She asked calmly, seriously.

So many young women came forward. Some still in highschool. No younger than seventeen but for years Ryan was talking to them at various points of their life. Who knows if they found them all.  _ Who knows what else he’s done. _

And Missy’s morals were already so fucking screwed. This was a private matter, no need to actually get the law involved.

_ A Man can have the law. A dog gets put down. _

Dogs get beaten into the ground, legs broken until they couldn’t run. Should they live, they get fixed. Should they prove more vicious than what they’re worth, they die. Clear and simple.

_ Hanks knows this about her. He knows why she thinks like that. _

“I don’t know,” he said, “Cy and Raymond are here. They called Salim and Jonathan over. If...I swear to god Missy, I’m going insane with fury over here. If I get my hands on him I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that motherfucker. _ I’ll kill him. _ ”

Missy heard shuffling and faint talking on the other side. Sean was an electrician with the hobby of body fitness and kickboxing. Built like a goddamn tank and a rampaging bull if he got angry. He didn’t get angry often, but having one of his friends turn out to be a disgusting excuse of a human being just brought up so much rage. If all the other guys weren’t there to stop him before he could even start, he’d murder Ryan without a single regret.

“Jocelyn isn’t there, right?”

Jocelyn was Hanks` girlfriend. He grunted on the other end of the phone and Missy understood. He didn’t call his girlfriend because she wouldn’t understand. She was painfully pacifistic and wouldn’t understand the depth of his rage.

_ That’s why he called Missy. _

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a huff of hot air. Like a hound trying to catch a scent. “He’s been staying at his ex’s house.”

“Sabrina? Does she know?”

“Don’t care,” Hanks said, probably grinding his teeth and clenching his fists on the other end, “I’ll kill him, Missy. I swear to god I’ll drag him out of his goddamn house and beat him in the street. I don’t give a fuck about his baby mama, _ he’s been touching girls I’m going to kill him. _ ”

_ Shit. He’s getting too worked up. He didn’t call her to insite his murderous rage, he called her for emotional support. _

“Sit down,” Missy said calmly, with the expectation that he would obey. She didn’t wait for his confirmation that he was sitting cause she didn’t need it. It was confidence, surety that he was listening and moving to her every command.

“When Jonathan gets there, have him take you to the gym. Punch something. Punch everyone. Blast some music and start yelling. Is Cy in the room? Tell him what I’m telling you. You need to get it outta ya.”

Missy described exactly the best way for Hanks to exhaust himself without actually committing a crime. If he really did kill Ryan, Missy was sure everyone else would stand beside him on that decision. _ But Hanks didn’t call her for that reason. _ Sometimes, he would get so angry and emotionally out of control that he would pass the reins onto someone else. She was very specifically the one he’d call when the wrath of god struck him for vengeance.

When his mom’s boyfriend hurt his sister, he snapped his wrist and shattered his jaw. When Salim was jumped, he tracked down those motherfucking racist bastards and bloodied his fists. When Jocelyn got approached on the bus, he punched someone’s throat. When Anna’s boyfriend started hitting her, Hanks sat him down and he never hurt Anna ever again.

Rage was easy for him but killing Ryan wouldn’t help his rage. If Ryan needed to. _..leave. _ ..Missy would rather he do it with a cool conscience.

That's why he called her. Because the one time a Lift driver almost kidnapped them for nefarious purposes, she was the one who caught on first, the one who pulled a knife on their driver, the one who got them out by calmly and confidently ordering their driver to pull over or else she’d rip his throat out.

_ With the same exact tone of voice that commanded thugs to drive only when she ordered them to, she did the same for him. _

“If you’re going to kill him,” she said only after she was finished and heard him relay her orders to Cy, “Do it when everyone else is with you. Don’t do it when they stand between you and murder. Wait for it, Hanks. They’ll have your back when you actually decide to do it.”

She heard him breathing harshly on the other end, probably seeing red with how furious he was. She wished she were there. Missy wished she were in the same room just to check what Cy was thinking. How far away was Salim and Jonathan. Where the fuck was Raymond in all of this.

“Thanks,” he said before hanging up.

It left Missy alone in her apartment to be swallowed with what had been done.

She was sitting on the kitchen floor, in a darkened apartment cause the sun was setting.

She didn’t have the strength to get up, she wanted to lie down and wallow in misery. The ache of betrayal an agony in her side. A Judas` kiss.

It's been going on for so long and now the lives of so many young women and girls were changed forever. Who will they become? How will they grow? How many did Ryan hurt in his megalomaniac streak?

_ How many did he hurt? _

_ How many did he hurt? _

That monster was so close to her friends, would he have reached for Anna when they were in freshman college and she was a senior in highschool? Would he have touched her sister? Hanks’ sister? Jocelyn’s? Would he have reached for her?

_ Oh god, _ it made her sick. What if he tried to touch her? She was five-foot-three, weighing under a hundred-twenty pounds. What if he had seen something in her to prey on? What if he looked at her and _ wanted? _

_ It made her afraid. _

It reminded her that she lived alone in an apartment in a city where she knew no one. She had no friends here. No one would notice if she were hurt or attacked. What if she became the victim of someone else’s malice?

_ She was alone. _

No one would move to hurt those who hurt her. No one would help her bury bodies.  _ God-fucking-damn  _ Hanks, she had gotten so use to his pack mentality that she forgot how it was to fly free. And now she couldn’t get it out of her head cause she was so alone, so lonely in a city she didn’t know.

Her thoughts kept circling back,  _ ‘How many did he hurt? What if he touched us? What if he reached for me?’ _

It was a sickening, vicious cycle that left her near to tears and shaking on the kitchen floor.

What she wouldn’t give to talk to her brother and sister again. She wanted to be with them. She wanted to call and have them help her calm down like always.

_ Wait, she could call them. _

Her phone was already at her side on a thirty-two percent battery. With shaking fingers and a breath that rattled her lungs and throat, she called her brother.

She was the eldest of three but Zack and her were what you call ‘Catholic Twins’. She was the eldest, but he had been born a quick year and a half away from her. They grew up in the same cradle. Walked the same steps. Arianna, their sister, was born three years after Missy and they were best friends too but if she called her, Ari would try to advise about her emotions.

Zack wouldn’t.

“‘Sup?” he answered on the seventh ring cause he was shit at answering calls.

“Ryan’s count is up to nine now.”

Silence on the other end and then a heartfelt,  _ “Fuck,” _ echoed between them.

Zack wasn’t friends with her friends. Their social circles didn’t interact often but he knew Ryan and knew what was going on. Of course he did, Missy told him all about it.

“Are you okay?” he asked and she felt so much like shit that she didn’t even want to laugh at such a stupid question.

“No,” she admitted, a tremble to her voice cause it was so messed up, “Can you talk to me? Tell me about DnD or something. Concerts. What did Trey say about your battle jacket?”

“Miss,” he breathed before pausing. Immediately, she knew exactly what was wrong. _ Fuck, she shouldn’t have called. _ “I’m about to clock in. You home?”

“Yeah, I’m home,” she said quietly, kinda listless on what to do. She didn’t want to be alone. She couldn’t stand to be alone right now.

“I found someone on YouTube you might like.”

He didn’t see it, but she was already shaking her head, “Don’t wanna listen to music tonight. It’s too much right now.”

“Not a musician,” he corrected, which surprised her cause when is he never listening to music? “Look up Corpse Husband on YouTube. He narrates stories and he’s got a good voice to fall asleep to.”

_ She wanted to laugh if she wasn’t so miserable. _

“That’s funny but I’ll explain it to you later,” she promised.

“I gotta go,” Zack said from the other side, “Look him up Missy, if you don’t want to listen to some Youtuber, call Ari, she loves you and would want to help.”

They said their goodbyes and Missy was left in an empty apartment by herself again. She felt a little bit better, reminded that her brother and sister are there for her despite the separation. She didn’t feel like moving much, the cool kitchen tile actually soothing to her temperature. She was hesitant to follow her brother’s advice, his choice in both music and videos didn’t usually appeal to her at all. In fact, she was almost convinced that his recommendation would be a dud and prove grating to her nerves.

But he would most definitely ask for her reaction and she couldn’t just say that she wasn’t even interested in  _ trying.  _ That would hurt his feelings.

She pulled up YouTube on her phone and searched for Corpse Husband. A list of videos popped up, mostly scary horror fiction, and it became obvious why exactly Zack found, liked, and suggested this channel. Her brother probably thought tales of psychopaths and killer clowns were his morning and evening news source.

A past livestream caught her eye cause just by the thumbnail and title, it just seemed like the Youtuber was just talking and answering questions. Sometimes she hated scary stories (cause she get too deep into it) so this type of video would be nice. Missy loaded up the video, putting her phone down on the floor and lying on her side to try her best to relax.

Her throat still felt tight, the need to cry sometimes rising up within her to only be choked down. Stomach mulishly churning in nerves but lying down was already helping her out. Something to do with gravity or something.

_ “Hello, can you guys hear me?” _

_ Oh. _

_ Jesus-fucking-Christ  _ that almost sounded like her neighbor. She almost panicked thinking that he broke into her apartment when she was having a slow meltdown but no, the basetone voice was coming out of her phone.

_ “Technical difficulties,” _ the Youtuber said and Missy could almost be convinced that it was her neighbor.

But it wasn’t.

There was a lot of similarities: he introduced himself with the name Corpse and had a voice that made her want to straighten her spine and have a good listen but there was something different there. Perhaps it was because she knew her neighbor’s voice first, and hearing this other person talk through her electronic made his words fall flat. Maybe it was because she couldn’t believe another Youtuber would live so close to her, like what are the odds of that? 

_ And if this Youtuber was the same Corpse as her next door neighbor...then so what? _

_ “If you guys can hear me right now, I have no idea what the fuck is going on.” _

They weren’t friends. He never even properly introduced himself to her (neither vise versa but that's besides the point). She was a single sob away from having an anxiety meltdown. She was alone in her house at who-knows-what time, about to cry on her kitchen floor with the only hope of calming down was listening to a voice that didn’t make her nerves scream.

_ “Okay, I don’t even know where to start-” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Story contains true events that happened with only slight variations to protect and hide the people closest to me and those that may read and recognize who is writing this.
> 
> This is not so much a confession of trauma as it is a collection of memories.
> 
> C'est la Vie.


	5. glamorized desk job - 1

The notification bell on the top right corner was lit red, signifying that a new video was up.

The title of the video read, “I WORKED MY BONES INTO THIS” with a thumbnail showing Missy poking her head out of a literal nest of black yarn of no discernable shape.

The video began to play, an empty room stood behind a simple desk and chair. Suddenly, streaking across the screen was a soccerball shaped object and darting out of view. A loud crash could be heard in the background. There was a scene cut where Missy was pulling out her chair, slamming a soccerball of black yarn onto the table and crashing a stack of papers beside it. She sat down heavily, her expression flat and mouth downturning.

_ “I’m about to regret ever being born.” _

Another scene cut where Missy is smiling now, music playing in the background, she waves a hand in greeting before diving into her intro,  _ “‘eyyo, Missy Mess here and this video is an accumulation of a literal month of pain. As in, I started this project and I worked on it every single day of my life for at least two hours in order to get it completed. ‘What project?’ do you ask? This one.” _

Scene cut, the video is shown a photograph of the end product, a six-feet-by-two-feet “scarf” that was more tapestry than anything wearable. The person standing up, holding the scarf for one end to touch the floor and the other reaching over her head, was peaking out of the crocheted anatomically proportioned skeleton. It looks amazing but complicated. It left the viewer wondering, “How did she do it?”

Scene cut back to Missy. She said,  _ “If any of you ask me to recreate this for any commission price I will track you down and slit your kneecaps. You can’t stop me. _

_ “‘Why did I even begin,’ you ask? Because I wanted to. Life is nothing without much suffering and if nothing is causing me pain, I will do it myself. I found this pattern at-” _ The video continues on for forty minutes, broken into parts to see a flash forward effect and her crocheting row by row of tiny stitches with the world’s thinnest yarn.

Commentary follows Missy’s fingers, cursing every moment of hard work, lamenting about lost patience and fingers worn into calluses as the days went on. The scenes began to switch from Missy working at her desk, to her working upside down in a tree, waist deep in a stream, swinging on a playgrounds tire swing, at the movies, in a gym. Sometimes there were clips of exactly when and how she messed up the pattern and therefore forced to unravel her work to make a correction. At one point Missy caught a mistake that happened more than a dozen rows back and you could hear her mind shattering like glass (cause it was a sound effect) for the scene to change to her frolicing in an open field cackling madly, screeching in fury, before it cuts to her lying face down in grass, unmoving.

By the end of the video, Missy’s short hair had been dyed magenta and it was growing warm enough for her hoodies and sweaters to switch to obnoxious bowler dad shirts and halter tops she had past made on her channel, tattoo scrawled up and down her arms that she’s collected over the years.

_ “Thank you for watching until the end, didn’t know I would follow the path of Dante but here we are back in the overworld, barely sane but who’s asking? I’m so happy that it’s completed and I hope the person I gift this too would like what I made for them. Hit the like button on your way out, subscribe if you wanna. Catch me making a mess next week on this channel, Missy Mess. Bye!” _

The video ended with another advertisement to like and subscribe to her channel. Other popular videos created by her were recommended.

Corpse looked at the scarf in his hands once before looking back up at the screen.

As the video and note that had been attached to the scarf had said, it was a hundred percent silk, incredibly soft and was so heavy that it wanted to slip out of his hands and spill onto the floor. He lifted one end up again, the sunlight in his room phasing through the openings of the scarf to look at the masterful display of skill crocheting a 2D skull that stared back out at him.

The note that had been tucked away within the gift wasn’t long. Missy’s handwriting an interesting scrawl of both printed and cursive words.

It read,  _ ‘I want to thank you for being yourself. Continue being who you are.’ _ and her name.

Nothing else.

Corpse’s YouTube feed was the one who notified him that she really was the one who made it. Her video did not say for who she was making the skeleton scarf for, implying that she was making it for herself.

_ But he had it. _ A gift from a fan, he had thought. It was in his PO box with a bunch of other letters and gifts. Neither the video nor the gift linked them together.

So many questions raced through his mind. So many possibilities.

_ Did she know?  _ If she did, why didn’t she just hand it to him personally? The last time Missy wanted to give him something, she marched to his door and forced him to take her banana bread without giving him any time to object.

It’s been more than a month since they last talked. Not very many opportunities came up, what with Corpse’s own hang ups over leaving his house only when he really needs to and Missy’s own apparent reclusiveness. The couple of times they did run into each other, there was nothing they had to say.

_ They weren’t friends. But apparently they were fans. _

Evidently, she liked his content enough to send a gift and when he’s not listening to music or actually working on his own projects, he was watching her funny commentary on the agony of being an artist with a mix of herself being a sassy relationship guru.

It was the most unnecessary complex social situation he had ever been in and he just had to laugh.

_ Shit’s funny. _


	6. i was really fuckin' hopin' it'd be different this year - 2

Every morning Missy would wake up and immediately start her day by going on a walk.

Before she showered, brushed her teeth, ate her breakfast, she pulled on her running shoes and stepped out into the real world when everything was quiet. The sun still wouldn’t have risen over the horizon by the time she got three blocks away from her house. The sky would turn from ethereal blue of early twilight to soft gold at dawn. By the time she reached her destination, the sun had already risen past the hour mark, sunlight waking up the world in its warm rays.

Missy’s favorite destination to walk in was a local park that sat at the edge of a man made canal. The park had the usual children’s play area, a baseball field that merged with a soccer field, and trees that ringed the whole area, magnolias and acacias. The man made canal had a walking/biking/jogging trail that followed the canal for miles. She didn’t join the early morning people who walked the trail.

She took photos.

If Ari was with her, she would have had another person to help photograph her in her knit and crocheted items for video purposes but Ari wasn’t so Missy had to do it all herself. If Ari and Zack were with her, she would have been fearless in going out and taking photos at any time of the day, her favorite setting always being dusk where the red-gold would light her skin bronze. But she would have to settle for early morning hues.

By the time she would get back home, the streets would be busy by the early morning shift trying to get to work. Older folk stepping outside their house to fetch the morning paper. Children walking to school.

There was a school bus pick up spot on her block, a line of five kids wearing backpacks too big for their backs. Missy never saw rhyme or reason when a mother would stand at the bus with their kid, simultaneously watching out for other people’s kids so that they don’t cross the street.

That morning there was no mother, which wasn’t unusual, but what was unusual was the rustic red Ford pickup truck that was slowly driving down the street.

She didn’t think much of it. Sure it was odd, but perhaps it was the lawncare people the complex manager hired to cut the grass, trim bushes, and to keep the weeds from growing into the cracks of the walkways.

That was the most likely scenario.

Then she noticed how the car, once finding itself at the end of the boulevard, would pull a U-turn to continue its crawl on the one side of the complex.

_ Okayyyyyyyy, little bit more suspicious but it could be her paranoia getting to work early in the morning and deciding that today was a fantastic day to fuck shit up. _

By the time she got to her building, the truck was driving by again. Missy looked inside the vehicle and about nine different red flags started screaming at her. White male. Older. Unkept five-o’clock shadow and he wasn’t alone. There was another man in the passenger seat and another in the back. Both men that she could see were staring out at the kids.

There was no other possible clue that they could be looking at. Her building faced a poorly kept quad area of dead grass, a broken BBQ pit, and a few sparse trees. The back of the truck didn’t have any tools or supplies that might pass them off as landscape workers.

_ And honestly, she was prejudiced against older White men who looked like they kept confederate flags right next to their white bed sheets. _

She ducked inside her building but didn’t take the stairs, peeking out of a side window to keep watch. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was just paranoid. Maybe they’d leave on this next turn.

_ Wrong. _

They circled again and she can see this time that the man in the back was shifting from one side to the other side at every turn. The empty seat next to them always open towards the complex’s side.

_ Shit shit shit what can she do? What can she do? _

The truck was already turning around again, this time the car would be closer to the kids. Most of the kids were playing before the bus got there, picking up sticks and using them as swords against each other. Two of the kids were sitting down at the designated bus stop, watching their friends play and cheering them on.

Fuck was nobody out and watching? It would be too much noise and nonsense if she suddenly started shouting, especially since nobody in the neighborhood was probably awake and knew her enough to come running.

_ Fuck, shit, car was closing in. _

Missy left the building and by looking around, spotting a few pieces of broken black asphalt tucked behind one of the bushes. Probably something the kids put there. She picked up the pieces before slowly approaching the sidewalk, keeping her eyes on the truck.

_ Shitting goddamn it was slowing to a stop. _

She didn’t hear what the men in the truck were saying, only seeing the one in the driver’s seat leaning across the mantle and shouting something. Was the window rolled down? Whatever he shouted, it got some kid’s attention. The two who were sitting down. One of them stood up and took one step closer to the car.

_ That was when she reacted. _

She threw back her arm and pitched the fucking rock at the truck, some switch flipping on inside her head and a cold apahy burned furiously inside her.

The rock cracked onto the windshield and the men inside the car looked out to see who the fuck did that.

They saw Missy, five-foot-three, standing there glaring at them with the most disdainful look of disgust. They could see another rock in her fist.

_ The man in the passenger seat stepped out of the truck. _

The kids, having the common sense to know that something was about to go down, took off and ran. The white man who stepped out could easily be six feet tall and two hundred pounds heavier than Missy. He had stepped out of the car as an intimidation tactic, but she wouldn’t allow them that power over her.

_ “Fuck away from those kids!” _ she spat, making her voice as loud as possible.

_ Please god, let someone come out and help her. _

“You threw that?!” the man shouted back. The man in the driver’s side was stepping out of the truck as well, so angry that his face was bulging red.

“Fuck off pedophilies!” she shouted back, keeping her eyes on the two threats with only one rock in her hand. She had no other weapon.

Already a plan of escape was forming in her head. She could run and could run fast. The boulevard behind her turns from an apartment complex to houses with fenced off backyards. Not only could she hop a fence, but she was pretty sure that there was a back alley probably three blocks away she could use to get back home after she lost them. Missy was confident that she could outrun them, but only if they threatened her first.

_ Ain’t no fucking way was she backing out now. _

“You bitch!” the driver shouted. Unsurprisingly they turned their entire focus from kidnapping to her, having cracked their windshield. “I’ll fuck you up! You wrecked my car!”

Maliciously, she thought that a single crack to his windshield was nothing to what she could do. If he wanted a wrecked car, she’d give it to him.

_ Without a second thought or single regret, she pitched the heavy rock in her hand. _

Her papa’s favorite sport was baseball. He had been scouted for talent back when he was in highschool in the eighties before his ankles were shattered in an accident. He missed his opportunity, but his love for the game was unstoppable. He put Zach through a baseball little league when it was actually Missy who wanted to play. For hours she tossed baseballs and learned to pitch, but baseball was a boy’s sport.

_ Suck it, Papa, her aim was perfect. _

The rock crashed into the windshield, spiderwebs breaking across the glass, an odd  _ crunch!  _ Sound echoing as the glass shattered but didn’t drop into a million pieces.

_ Now the car was fucking wrecked. _

Her cold apathetic fury broke way to savage pride, she felt no fear when the men started relentlessly cussing her out and stomping their way towards her. It was that coldness, that stupid apathetic switch that happens in her brain when she turns from stressing-about-everything to I-don’t-give-a-fuck that had caused her trouble so many times before.

“You stupid bitch! I’ll fucking beat your cocksucking whore ass up! You’re gonna pay for this you goddamn whore!”

It was only when they were five feet away from her did she suddenly get the thought,  _ ‘Oh something’s happening.’ _

Fear was a stranger to her, apathy freeing her of any worry of consequence. The Virgin Mary herself could have asked for a guilty conscience and Missy would have refused.

**“What the fuck is happening?”**

The men stopped in their tracks and Missy looked to the side to see Corpse out of the apartment building wearing black on grey on black, medical mask, and still looking pissed enough to throw hands.

_ Huh. _

“The cunt wrecked my truck and I want payback,” spat the driver.

_ If a situation is already going tits up, make it worse. _

“They were fucking stalking the kids,” Missy said, barely noticing a flash of yellow out the corner of her eye. “Saw them fucking casing the street. They were out for the kids!”

The two men started shouting back at her but she wasn’t listening. The third man back in the truck was out now, but sticking by the car door watching. The school bus had pulled up just behind the truck and the bus driver was looking out, probably trying to understand what was going on and where were the kids she had to pick up. Though Corpse appeared out of nowhere as some outside third party, he was spatially leaning more her way, kinda standing at her back and shoulder where in order to actually look, she would have to turn her head.

_ She didn’t look away. _ The two men before her poured vitriol curses at her but nothing they could say could faze her. The kids were all gone now and if she got hit, she could take it.

_ This won’t be a story about a child being snatched off the street. _

_ An altercation was so much easier to swallow. _

“Got nothing to say bitch?” the driver shouted at her, “Ain’t got nothin’ to say? Say you’re sorry!”

Papa taught her never to apologize for anything unless you meant it.

_ Missy wasn’t sorry at all. _

“Stay away from those kids,” she said, completely serious, staring wide eyed and near feral, “Stay the fuck away from those kids.”

_ He reached for her. _

In the time it took for him to reach his meaty hands out to grab her, she had already thought of ways to actually hurt him.

Her thumbnails were always kept long. If he grabbed her by one arm she could cut his eye out. If he grabbed her by both arms she could kick his stomach. If he hit her, she would need to get up fast.

_ “DON’T TOUCH HER!” _

A loud booming voice shattered the angry altercation and everyone stopped to look at-

_ It was her neighbor. The portly man with the small dog. _

He had a white tank top on and washed out pajama pants, the bulk of his belly arms and shoulders obscenely hanging out of his clothes. His expression was mean and fierce. A half-sawed shotgun was tucked under her arm, nozzle down, finger off the trigger but on the ready. There was something in the way he stood now, the way his voice rang like a drill sergeant in the yard.

_ “Touch her and I’ll kill you,” _ he said with the seriousness of a death toll.

The two men stepped back, arms up but they were saying something as if to reason with her neighbor but she didn’t listen to them. Missy was too busy looking at the gun, at how his feet were placed, at how suddenly with this new information all of his “portly” fat turned more into bulk, the type of fat that hid muscle well earned that clung to bone. The type you could never get rid of.

Suddenly her neighbor said, “Get back to your truck and leave. I see you around again, I will kill you.”

_ No one called his bluff, if it even was one. _

The two men left, serving a dirty look her way before stomping off, getting into their truck and peeling away.

_ Finally she could breathe. _

It was warmer out in the day, sun shining bright, parents were standing and watching from the doorways of their buildings, kids tucked away behind their legs and watching out. The yellow school bus honked its horn as if to declare the all-clear sign and slowly the adrenaline pumping in Missy’s system eased into a sort of high that made her hyper aware of Corpse who was standing closest to her and the other neighbor, who tucked the gun under his arm for safety reasons.

“You alright?” asked her neighbor whom she still didn’t know the name of.

She looked at him with a sudden new light, a seed of respect planted, watered, and growing within. She voiced that she was alright and with a single nod of acknowledgement, the man marched right on off to their building.

Missy was almost in a daze at this point, so many things happened in so little time. Not even twenty minutes had passed! She’d thrown a rock, the men came out, Corpse suddenly appeared, the driver tried to do something, and then suddenly a gun was involved and solved the whole issue.  _ For fuck’s sake it could almost push her into becomng an adrenaline junkie, holy shit. _

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Corpse’s voice startled her once again cause she forgot he was still there. He looked so fucking tense standing there and he was really pissed off for some reason. Just...angry in the face.

“You heard me,” she said, “Those creeps were stalking the street. When they tried to talk to the kids, I had to put their attention on me.”

“You didn’t call the fucking cops?”

The switch in her head that had turned on, flipped off and it was as if the world tilted to its right side.  _ Oh, she didn’t think about calling the cops. _ That wasn’t...that wasn’t her first instinct. She didn’t even think of calling the cops.

He must had read her answer by the look on her face cause he exhaled almost violently before murmuring, “Fucking shit man, that was dangerous and stupid.”

He probably had more to say but he kept silent.

Missy looked at him, watched him for a moment. Corpse...he came out of his apartment and had her back. He was the first one out of his house and stepped in when things started turning ugly. He wasn’t able to deescalate the situation like their other neighbor had but he put himself in the line of fire first.

_ That meant something. _

“Thank you for being there,” she said, completely and totally honest. She was grateful and now...well maybe she wouldn’t be so adverse to interacting with him anymore.

Corpse was cool in her books.

The other man was looking at her funny but she passed it off as awkwardness. It wasn’t everyday when two reclusive neighbors almost end up in a fist fight outside their house in the name of justice.

“You’re not gonna bake me banana bread again, will you?”

Hands on her hips, she gave him a small smile and said, “I seem to remember my plate coming back to me clean. If not banana bread, is there anything else you would want? I make a mean chili.”

He still had a weird expression on his face, though half covered, was seen by his eyes and brow. Corpse looked like he wasn’t sure if Missy was even real or not.

“No chili,” he said, “The bread was fine.”

It was right then did she commit herself to the goal to one day feed Corpse a meal he couldn’t say no to.

_ No one says no to chili and gets away with it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so everyone's clear, I am not so much of an idiot as to actually get in a confrontation with kid-snatchers.
> 
> I'm the type of idiot, as a kid, to have noticed the red truck making several passes along the street where her bus stop was, and picked up a rock to chuck at the passenger window when that side of the door opened. All of us kids ran, security was called, the red pickup truck never came back around again.
> 
> Call the cops if you suspect an eminent kidnapping. Get their license plate.


	7. i was really fuckin' hopin' it'd be different this year - 3

Missy knocked on her neighbor’s door and patiently waited with a parcel in her arms.

A dog barked behind the door, probably excited by her knock and though Missy had always hated small dogs, this particular chihuahua would be chucked in a vat of acid.

_ “Alright I hear ya,” _ came a voice from inside, distantly.

A moment later, the door chain was unlocked and it swung open. The man was still disheveled looking, beer and sweat stained top with a pair of basketball shorts on, feet sock covered. Missy held out her parcel, not at all offended when he didn’t take it.

_ She wasn’t trying to do a gift and run like last time. This needed to be done much more tactful than that. _

“What’s that?” the man asked with a growl in his voice. Early morning neighbors knocking at your door and a lifetime of drinking acidic beer could do that to ya.

“My thanks to you,” she said before shrugging her shoulders casually, “You pulled a gun out for me.”

This man could have gotten in so much trouble for her if the local law authority knew that this sort of altercation happened and this man took out his gun to threaten others when his life wasn’t directly in danger.

He lived adjacent to her unit. If he had come out cause he heard yelling, he wouldn’t have witnessed what she had seen, would not have known the whole story from start to finish. What must have happened was that he heard her shouting about pedophiles and he took up his gun to actually do something without question.

_ He didn’t ever ask for a story. He threatened to kill someone just for stepping out of line. _

The man was still looking at her and then looking down at the parcel. Quite obviously, it was a blanket, thick and heavy linen that was crocheted so intricately it appeared almost braided in parts. It was folded up with a piece of twine to hold it together neatly. She specifically chose this project because it was easy to clean, heavy enough to actually serve as a weighted blanket, and textured enough not to aggravate anyone by being ‘too soft’.

She didn’t know if this man had PTSD but it was worth making plans for it.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, taking the blanket from her with one large hand, dropping his arm to the side and not looking super enthused about it.

“I’m Missy,” she finally introduced herself. Someone willing to take their gun out for her earned that, “And again, thank you.”

“Nelson,” he said reflexively and she could immediately tell it was his last name.

_ She bothered him enough.  _ Missy gave him a nod and left, not minding that she heard the door shut at her back as quickly as she did so.

It didn’t matter if a gift was well appreciated or not. Sometimes they just had to be given.


	8. no quiero estar aquí - 3

It was two in the morning and Corpse was outside his apartment building, standing out in the cool night air with his neighbors joining him.

It was the couple’s fault, or at least the woman? The fire alarm started ringing and when he smelled actual smoke it meant that he had to leave the building.

The fire station was called. It didn’t sound serious. The woman had gone around talking loudly and apologizing. She had left the stove on when she was reheating food, accidentally falling asleep when she  _ ‘put my head down for one second’ _ . An oven mitt, or dish towel caught on fire and the smoke triggered the alarm.

Corpse stood separately from everyone, tired as shit, and groggy from looking at a computer screen for too long. A headache pulsed at his temple but at least he had been wide awake when the alarm sounded.

Glancing around, there were so many people who were barely awake and upset that they had to leave their beds, despite it being for their safety. His neighbor, the one who owned the dog and gun, looked extra grumpy, an interesting looking blanket tossed over his shoulders and tiny chihuahua in his arms.

He looked around again, subconsciously doing a headcount seeing all his neighbors outside in groups.

There were the people that lived on the ground floor: the family of four, the weed man, and the granny who lived with her Deaf/half-blind husband. The motherfucker who lived below him, the bitch who once tried to front him on flirting with his girl (what the fuck man, insecure much?) wasn’t there and thank god cause he honestly didn’t know if that bitch would try something and Corpse would have to punch someone’s face in.

Firestarter woman was still talking to the firefighters. Military man looked ready to charge back into his apartment to sleep through the smoke. It wasn’t until he noticed that he actually started looking around, paying attention.

_ Where’s Missy? _

He barely found her. She was sitting down under a tree, the darkness of the night swallowing around her where the streetlights and lanterns couldn’t touch. He only caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye that was vaguely human shaped.

Everyone else was grouping up and he really didn’t want the firestarter lady to see him standing alone and think that's enough permission to approach and start talking at him. So he approached Missy to at least look like he wasn’t some outsider looking in on the panic.

_ Someone might think him a burgeoning arsonist. _

_ Wouldn’t that be funny? _

Missy was sitting down on a tree root, a blanket pulled over her head and body like it was negative four degrees out. Her eyes were listlessly staring at nothing and she was kinda rocking back and forth as if fighting off sleep and losing the battle.

“You wake up from it?” he asked cause though it was tempting to remain silent to see if she actually fell asleep sitting up or face-planted into the dirt, something prompted him to actually be nice for once.

_ Perhaps it was sympathy. _

_ Perhaps it was a sleep deprived delusion. _

_ Who knew at that point. _

Her eyes flickered to him for a second before looking back around, realizing that she lost a moment of time there. Tired Missy, woken up at two in the morning, had something real quiet and soft about her like she wasn’t fully conscious enough to put up walls or be hostile.

_ There were a lot of examples of her being aggressive. Seeing her slowly think about her reply was almost unnatural. _

“Yeah,” she croaked out, yawning real quick before saying in a clearer voice, “You’ve been up.”

It was probably obvious, what with he not wearing sleepwear like everyone else who came out of their homes.

“Nocturnal,” he said, not gonna fucking list all his health issues to a stranger still.

On that note; it was fucking weird knowing Missy and not knowing her. Fucking shit Corpse wished he knew what to do. He had watched a bunch of her videos, not all but a lot, and it felt like he knew a side of Missy that she hadn’t allowed for him to see.

Because they knew each other first as neighbors. And now he knew what her favorite color was, who Giovanna was in her life and what a bitch she was, how much she hated scary movies cause her empathy puts her in first point of view and it freaks her out. She probably knew his health issues without him actually telling her. Missy knew that his family life was a nightmare and a half. He didn’t tell her any of this and she didn’t tell him anything else.

_ But the real question was: did she know? _

He’s a faceless YouTuber, did she recognize his voice through his videos? Did she know that the month long project she had been working on was for him, her neighbor? He was lost.

He knew her because her videos had her face.

_ Well actually… _

Looking at her now, he had to admit it was different. Seeing someone on TV or video could make a person unrecognizable. Stories of celebrities who successfully go under the radar within crowds of fans were funny for a reason. Seeing Missy in the flesh was the same.

Without any natural lighting, make up, or filters, Corpse could honestly say that she wasn’t pretty. A handsome woman surely, a square strong jawline, dark and thick eyebrows, short-cut hair that was buzzed at the sides, Missy honestly looked either like an androgenous woman or leaning towards butch. In her videos, she was feminine enough to catch someone’s eye. Realistically, she just looked normal.

_ He wouldn’t have recognized her. Now he had the thought, ‘what if she didn’t recognize him?’ _

“Oh,” she said, some sort of reminder popping up in her sleep interrupted brain, “What can’t you eat? Is there anything you absolutely can’t eat, regardless if you’re allergic or not?”

_ That fucking came outta nowhere. _

“I can’t eat anything with mustard,” she gave an example, “Or too much pork. I would say potato salad could rot but I hate the smell of bad mayo.”

“What about bacon?” he asked cause his attention was caught on the  _ ‘too much pork’ _ comment.

“Bacon’s fine,” she admitted, “But not too much. Two slices. Three on good days. If I eat too much I get sick.”

“Why?”

A weird expression crossed her face, a hesitation to either fully explain what she meant or given him an easier version. She said, “You can stop eating pork for so long that the body forgets how to digest it. Me and my family cut pork out of our lives for health reasons and now we can get sick from it. Can’t eat short ribs, sausages, pork hot dogs or any pork broth. Bacon and salami is fine in small amounts.”

_ That was something she never shared online. _

It was something she shared with him, separate from her YouTuber personality and it further distanced the idea of his neighbor with the woman he watched actually go on a rant about some viewers asking for knit wear and not paying enough for them.

“I have Gerd,” he admitted, watching her expression to see if she reacted in a way that might out her as knowing his separate YouTube career.

“What’s that?” she asked curiously, her brows drawn together in either concern or confusion. An interesting reaction.

“Acid reflux on steroids,” he summed up the explanation for her, “I have to watch what I eat or else my stomach acid would rip me apart.”

“Huh,” she murmured before saying, “So what can you and can’t you eat?”

He told her which led to him admitting that he cooks a lot of his food from home, eating out being a minefield and a half for Gerd as bad as his. Sometimes it was just exhausting looking out so hard for himself.

“Oh,” she said, her expression stricken by something, “That’s why you said you probably couldn’t finish my bread. Oh I’m so sorry, if I’d known…”

_ Fucking hell, talking to sleepy Missy was like meeting someone completely different. _

“It was good,” he assured, “Your banana bread wasn’t too heavy on the flavor profile of sweet or too nutty or spicy. It was perfect.”

Missy shrugged her shoulders admitting, “Can’t eat too sweet things so the banana bread is my family’s dessert.”

“Can’t eat bacon,” he said, “Can’t eat sweets what the hell.”

“Papa can’t eat sugary things cause his diabetes,” she said and  _ okay, now what she was sharing might be a little too personal  _ but she kept talking, “I can’t eat sweets just cause it's too sugary. I like either savory or bitter things. Sweets cause migraines. My brother vomits at too much sugar.”

She stood to her feet and Corpse became aware that people were walking back into the building. Missy continued talking, “Zach’s palette is fucked up and the bread feeds him nutrients he needs. My sister Arianna has a texture thing where nuts freak her out sometimes when mixed in, so nutmeg powder.”

Her explanation was a bit too personal. Perhaps it was just her sleepy thoughts letting such things out so casually but Corpse was so fucking uncomfortable suddenly knowing more about Missy than what he’d be willing to give away anytime soon, regardless if she already knew or not by listening to his videos.

Suddenly he realized exactly what she was inadvertently telling him.

_ The fucking banana bread. _

She created a recipe specifically for her family in mind. She built it up just for her dad and siblings to eat and enjoy, and she gave it to him. He had said he might not be able to eat it with no explanation to her as to why.

_ No fucking wonder she was pissed back then. _

“I’ll bake it for you again,” she said, starting to walk back, Corpse falling into line with her, “I’ll give ya the recipe for you ta check if somethin’ might trigger Gerd. That’s fucked up, man.”

He didn’t have a reply for that.

_ Everything’s fucked up with him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never written or mentioned the word 'banana' so much in such a short amount of tie, i can go a full year without saying it ever again.


	9. glass shatter, gums bleed, off the fuckin everclear - 1

Corpse startled into awareness, hearing something muffled slammed shut. What was-?

_ “Stupid fucking cunt!” _ came from the other side of the wall and he wanted to laugh because it was just so funny hearing his neighbor cuss somebody out. It happens at least once a week and it was always fun to listen in.

_ “He’s gone?”  _ she demanded and Corpse could hear things being dropped to the floor. She was probably in her own bedroom at this point, her voice closer than usual and clear as day from all the shouting,  _ “The bitch is gone? WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!” _

_ That didn’t sound good. _

Corpse...never heard her shout like that. He had always heard her reacting hilariously to other people’s problems, but this sounded…

_ This sounded enraged. _

A personal rage. Something that actually made her angry. The type of anger that bleeds into your eyes and makes your ears ring. He had never heard her like this, and he had heard her shout at child-snatchers before.

_ Fuck, whats going on now? _

_ “Sabrina isn’t talking?” _

She must not be doing a video, the conversation isn’t one way. Is she on call?

_ “I wouldn’t trust that stupid bitch even if she did tell us where he went. Can Cy track anything on him? His phone, his car?” _

Was something serious? Tracking?

_ “Where’s Hanks?” _

Was this ‘Hanks’ who they were trying to find? What was happening?

_ “Well maybe because THE STUPID BITCH RAN AWAY FROM THIS.” _

_ “Why am I-? I’M ANGRY BECAUSE RYAN IS OUT THERE AND HE’S NOT _ **_-GODDAMN YOU RAYMOND.”_ **

There was silence again. Corpse leaned in close to the wall, hearing the faint static of someone talking over the phone.

_ “A...another?” _ He heard from Missy and he took a chill, stomach sinking down to his feet hearing the absolute horror in her voice before being shocked by an unholy  _ shriek of pain. _

Agonized shrieking, the type that came out when you were in unbearable pain and wished for it all to end. Missy screamed in her apartment, two heavy thuds shaking the walls a bit before the noise finally died down.

_ It was blood curdling. _

Does he check on her? Does he knock on the wall to show that he’s been there listening in to one half of a painful realization? Should he call someone?

As time stretched on, it became clear that the call had ended and Missy had gone silent. No, not silent. He could...Corpse could hear something close.

Was she close to the wall where he was at? Was she leaning against the wall? Lying on a bed? He could hear...what was that?

_ A hiccup. _

_ Finally, he heard the tiniest keen of someone sobbing but trying to keep quiet about it. _

Instantly, Corpse felt like he personally violated the setting. As quietly as he could, he picked up his shitty laptop, phone, charger and cords and left his bedroom, giving Missy on the other side of the wall a little more privacy to break down.

He didn’t knock on her door. Didn’t try and offer a word or shoulder in comfort.

They were still strangers.

And he wasn’t the type to help in any case like this.


	10. glass shatter, gums bleed, off the fuckin everclear - 2

Missy was five-foot-three and a hundred-and-fourteen pounds.

Hardly bad, but she did like remembering that Captain America in the Cinematic Universe was canonically five-foot-two and ninety pounds before he took the serum. She was of healthy weight and a little shorter than the average height. She was slight in the way that tricked people into thinking she was smaller than what she was.

She loved athletics. Not sports cause competitions suck when she decided it really wasn’t worth it. But she loved pushing herself at times, rock climbing, hiking, and distance running being her favorite exercise.

_But in college she joined a boxing class._

She felt like she needed it, all of her guy friends were taller, bigger, and stronger than her and it made her aware of the world who might see her slightness and see it as an excuse to pick her up. _Both literally and figuratively._ She wanted to take a self defense class, and she absolutely should, but she took up boxing first.

_She loved it._

Training was amazing, it pushed her and everything to aching levels. She never pushed herself to do so many pushups in her life. Punching something in rhythm and disorganized combos was a reliving way to release all her anxiety and tension. It forced her breathing into movement, her mind to focus, her eyes never straying from her opponent's shoulders when she was up for a spar. _She loved boxing._

She didn’t take it as far as she wanted to but that was fine. C’est la vie and all, it moved on.

_But now she felt like she needed it._

Anxiety gripped her innards tight, her skin crawling and shoulders hunched up to her ears. Her hands had been shaking and freezing cold for days. Going through the motions of sparring wouldn’t help her emotions for shit, but at least it's better to be exhausted and feeling like shit than keyed up on an adrenaline high going nowhere and feeling like shit.

Missy showed the gym attendant her membership card and she was passed through. She was already dressed, only needing to store her effects away before wrapping her knuckles up. Already she could feel her breathing slow, stuttering just a little because she barely even started.

Headphones in, she turned on her little MP3 that, while banged up, still worked perfectly for her. Flicking through her songs, she lingered at her “NEW MUSIC” playlist, scrolling through the various tracks to see if something stood out for her to put on loop.

She liked listening to music as she worked out, but in particular, the rhythm of the song needed to be steady enough for her to make a swing per beat. Having selected the song of the day, she went out onto the floor and started to stretch out her limbs, listening to the song at least twice before picking out a single strip of empty gym mat for her to go through her combos, moving forward the entire way, and not having to worry about tripping over somebody.

_Bitch I’m a fuck up, ayy_

Steady, steady, breathe steady.

One-two combo, keep your feet spread shoulder width, toes pointed forward. Little step with the front foot at one, little step with the back foot at two. You’re not aiming your fists right, correct aim. One-two. One-two.

Get used to it now. Remember how it once felt. One-Two. One-Two. Duck, bitch. Don’t step back, step forward. Guard your face. One-Two. One-Two. Faster. You’ll never be a heavy hitter. You have to be faster. One-Two. One-Two.

_I'm still on the run_

_Oppositions tryna get me_

Throw in a side swipe. One-Two-THREE. One-Two-THREE. Pivot at the front foot not the back. Twist with the shoulders not the hips. Keep the center of gravity balanced and low, keep your opposite arm up. Keep up your guard. One-Two-THREE. One-Two-THREE. Aim high for the head. Aim low for the kidneys. Keep it tight. Keep it fast.

Punch as if you need to go through something, don’t stop momentum. Don’t pause. Don’t hesitate. Step forward. One-Two-THREE. Get used to this. Fast jab and right cross. Aim to hurt with a hook. Aim to really hurt. You’ll never be as strong. You have to be fast, vicious.

_Fight to break or it’ll all be over._

_I'm still swervin' 'til I'm done_

_Won't off the gas until it's empty_

Bob-n-weave. Bob-n-weave. Side step forward. Keep your eyes staring forward. Keep your arms up, keep your guard. Throw in the uppercut. Bob-n-weave four! Bob-n-weave four! Keep breathing. Exhale at the punch. Keep focus.

Turn on the gym floor. Focus. _Focus you piece of shit._ One-Two-Three-Four! One-Two-Three-Four! Work until its memory is ingrained to your muscles. It’s getting warm. Breathe. Keep your eyes focus on the opposite wall. Bob-n-weave One-Two-Three-Four! Guard, protect your head, protect your ribs. Focus.

_Ryan got away._

_I still fuckin' hate myself_

_I still fuckin' can't accept me_

Missy couldn’t help intrusive thoughts though she kept swingin’. One-Two-Three-Four! Start circling here. Back foot to move right, front foot to move left. One-Two. One-Two. Bob-n-weave right. Crouch low, pop up at the side, One-Two! Crouch low, pop up again, One-Two! Bob-n-weave left. Slower now, hook to the kidneys, hook to the head. Crouch, step, Three-Three! It’s awkward footing, but you’ll train it out.

Circle again. Focus. _Focus._ Breathe.

_He’s gone._

_Focus, motherfucker. Where you lookin’ at? Eyes forward, bitch. What combo are you doin?_ Two-Four! Two-Four! Keep your goddamn arm up. Guard your ribs. Guard your head. Two-Four! Start stepping forward, stop circling. Move.

_They can’t find him._

Faster. Move faster. Forward. Can’t afford to back away. Don’t look back. Don’t look down. Look forward. Focus. 

_Bitch, I'm a fuck up, ayy_

_It's why I get fucked up, ayy_

_Hanks’ angry. He isn’t calling her._

_FUCKING FOCUS BITCH._ Combos! One-One-Three-Four! Two-Four! Three-Three-Two! Keep going! Breathe! Focus!

_Ryan is gone._

Bob-n-weave, One-One-Two-Three-Four! Go, go, Two-Two-Three! Feet spread wider! Faster! Move faster! Breathe. Focus. Look forward, don’t look away.

Their shoulders, focus forward on their shoulders. Their shoulders can tell you everything. Focus. Focus. Move in opposition. Move faster. Don’t get caught. Don’t get fucking caught. Guard up, keep your guard up. Keep it fast.

_I fuckin' snap, and they all ask me why (Ayy)_

_I chase the bag and then another high (Little bitch)_

_He’s a monster._

Shoulders. He would move first by right hand to grab her. Knock it away, swing forward Two-Four! Aim for the face, the throat. He’s taller than her, aim for the kidneys, Three-Three-Three-Four! Forward. Move forward. Go for his neck.

_He was my friend._

Bob-n-weave. Aim for the kidneys, Three! Rise up, hit to the head, Three! Bob-n-weave, Two-Four! Don’t back down. Move forward with jabs, One-One-One-One. Faster. Keep it fast. _Break him._

_Hanks’ll kill him._

He’ll have to find him first. One-Two-Three-Four-Three! One-One-Two! Bob-n-weave. Breathe. Are you breathing? Keep breathing. Focus forward. He can’t run for long.

He left Sabrina. He left his mom. He’s either going somewhere or he’ll be back. Where is he going? Bob-n-weave. Where the fuck is he going?

She didn’t know. Does he have friends or family out of the city? Can he hide for long? Move. Move faster. Hanks’ll kill him. He’s so angry. Where is he?

_How many has he hurt? How many more has he hurt?_

Could Missy kill him?

_She stopped._

Could she kill him? Could she find it within herself to kill someone, someone who she once called friend? If Hanks didn’t get to Ryan first, if Missy had the chance, could she kill him? Would she?

_Would she?_

_I still fuckin' hate myself_

_I still fuckin' can't accept me_

Why wouldn’t she?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You got three chances to guess the song.
> 
> No, none of them count.
> 
> Easy pickin' motherfucker.
> 
> Listen to CORPSE on youtube and get depressed


	11. i was really fuckin' hopin' it'd be different this year - 4

_ God, what wouldn’t she give to be high right now? _

Lying spread eagle on the floor of her living room, Missy had her eyes closed, headphones in, MP3 playing songs she found calming for her, trying to trick her brain into a placebo high.

Jonathan was Hanks’ source of medical mari, and Missy never asked specifically for it but sometimes...sometimes Jon would slip her some with a compatible pat to her shoulders. No questions, nothing said. Just...some kindness.

She ate the edibles. Gummy Bear version. Hanks once tried to get her high on the rice krispies but she had to take a shit ton to feel something. Gummy Bears she could take to normal standards and still feel a high.

_ It made her quieter, calmer. Fucked her up on the outta body experience afterwards but sometimes she just couldn’t stand her skin anymore. _

_ Shit, _ she needed new music. The same songs she listened to while high were chosen way back in the day. Memories was the one baggage you couldn’t get rid of and listening to ‘Saturn by Sleeping at Last’ reminded her of that one time at Ryan’s birthday party where they took out sharpened katanas in order to play fruit ninja and slice through liter bottles of water.

It wasn’t a bad memory. It was just tainted.

Yet still she listened cause there was nothing else. Lying on her living room floor, her spine was relaxing from staying hunched over for so long recording for a video. Netflix’s Jessica Jones series had their main heroine Jessica wear a knitted scarf with a special stitch pattern Missy had to comb through reddit and tumblr for answers. Now she was recreating the cowl cause she was a badass like that.

_ Whoopdee-fucking-doo, _ she was lying on the floor once again trying to stave off another anxiety attack and wishing she was higher than a fucking kite while still celebrating Netflix finally growing a spine to showcase a woman who could wrestle with the big boys (literally, she had some  _ scenes  _ with beautiful indestructible men like Luke Cage in the show)(Spoiler Alert).

_ There was a joke in there somewhere. _

_ Wait, the joke was Missy. _

What fucking time was it? How long had she been hosting her own pity party? God she really hated herself sometimes. Why couldn’t she have a taste for alcohol? That would be a much easier vice other than her own misery.

She rolled over to her side, clicking on her MP3 for the time. She still hadn’t switched it for Daylight Saving time, so it was fucked but she could easily guess it was probably...eleven.  _ Shit.  _ She should be heading to bed right now but she didn’t feel the least bit tired. Missy felt too sick to sleep anyways.

_ Nausea by thine arch nemesis _ and all that bull, if she even drank water Missy was sure it would send her into a fit of heaving.  _ Fun. _ Jocelyn would kill her.

For her own amusement, Missy imagined between her and Jocelyn if the other woman were to find out her eating habits went to shit again.

_ ‘I’m not even hungry Jo.’ _

_ ‘I’m a qualified nurse, you won’t feel hungry after I’m done.’ _

For a strict pacifist, she was scary in her scrubs.

Her eyes closed, not even listening to the music anymore so much as just existing.

The carpet was carpet, pretty cheap but soft enough not to irritate skin. If she had her headphones off, she was sure she’d be able to hear the family of four that lived directly below her. If she laid her whole body down again she might be able to feel the vibrations of everybody else moving around the building. Not that she’d know what they were doing. She’d just know they were moving. Maybe she’d feel the beat of whoever’s music keeps bumpin’ at night.

The secrets of the night were hers if she kept quiet and still enough.

_ She was good at that. _

Then she actually felt exactly where someone was moving.

The door closing was a dead giveaway, someone on her floor leaving their apartment and their footsteps making the floor vibrate under her head and shoulder. She couldn’t figure out who it was or where they were walking. It was like seeing a tsunami, knowing the vague direction it came from but unable to pinpoint exactly where the earthquake was.

It was comforting a little, knowing that the world was moving around her without any input. That it would continue moving without her. Lives went on, people moved and breathed. Children were raised, TV was watched, dinner was served. Basic acts living, all so out of her control that it existed without her permission.

_ The world existed without her. _

C’est la vie.

_ There was a knock on the door. _

Solid. Two raps.

Fucking rude, Missy didn’t even want to get up off the floor. Who the fuck was knocking on her door at eleven at night? Don’t they know she’s going through her existential crisis at the moment? Can’t they reschedule for an appointment at a more convenient time? She hasn’t even gotten around to talking to demons yet. How inconsiderate.

But...it would be rather rude of her _ not _ to answer. Especially since, knowing her upstairs neighbors, the only reason why they would be knocking at her door would be because they needed something important.

Perhaps the couple needed food to be reheated and they feared they might fall asleep midway. Maybe Nelson wanted to ask the license plate number of the kid-snatchers to hunt them down himself. What if it was Corpse, finally stepping out to show off his trophy case of shriveled heads he’s collected from his victims and she was next?

_ Well that encouraged her to actually answer her door. _

She was too tired to check the peephole for once, already knowing it’s a neighbor and she opened her door to reveal Corpse, looking awkward as fuck and ready to break out into hives from any social interaction.

_ #relatable _

“Do you have rosemary?”

_ Missy was not expecting that. _

“Uh, yeah,” she said, boggled that her neighbor came out of his fortress to ask  _ for rosemary  _ of all things at eleven at night. Without asking about any measurements, she closed her front door to just a crack before heading to her spice cabinet.

What WOC would she be without a full spicerack? Admittingly, rosemary was kind of one of the rarer seasoning seeing as how pungent it was, only to be added to “heavier” palette foods like pork, chicken, or beef. Missy always kept her kitchen well stocked in rosemary cause her rosemary-bread was  _ to die for. _

Picking up her container of rosemary leaves, she quickly went back to the front door to see Corpse looking even more uncomfortable. And  _ holy fucking shit _ he looked like his blood was clawing its way out of his skin. His dark undereye bags were so bad his actual eyes were bloodshot to shit. He looked clammy and disgusting, like actual particles of grave dirt should be smeared on everything he’s ever touched.

Seemed like he was having his own pity party and it looked so much more fun than hers.

_ Ha. A joke. _

She handed over the rosemary and before he could shamble away like the zombie he was  _ (ha. Another joke. Corpse. Being a zombie. Ha, get it?) _ she remembered something and called out, “Hey.”

_ God, he flinched like she shot him.  _ She’d be sorry that he seemed even worse off than she was but at the moment, she didn’t have the emotional capacity to focus on anything but not vomiting on anybody's shoes.

She asked, “What’s a good song to fall in a pit of self-destruction?”

_ How fucking edgy. _ Missy would have wanted that she’d punch her own face for that cringe-worthy sentence that actually left her mouth. But her nausea was slowly getting worse, especially since she threw herself into a social interaction without actually thinking, _ ‘Oh hey, this might actually trigger you into actually vomiting. When’s the last time you ate?’ _

_ Fuck he looked like Hell. Literal hell. How is he even alive? He could lie down and she could...like...tell the ambulance not to resuscitate. Looking at him was painful. _

Yet still he looked like he was thinking over her question before answering, “Rosier by brakence.”

Great. She got her answer. He got his rosemary. They are two perfectly normal people in society that weren’t fucked to shit.

_ Ha. It’s not funny anymore. _

Missy didn’t feel energetic enough to say anything else, nodding her head and closing her front door, Corpse hurrying to his door to do the same.

She...didn’t feel like lying on her living room floor anymore. She was already up, might as well go to bed. Maybe her mattress wouldn’t feel like it was trying to suffocate her this time.

When she was in bed, clothes changed, blankets over her as if she really was ready for sleep even if she knew she wouldn’t be sleeping a wink until her nausea abated. Missy pulled out her phone and...what did he say?

What song did he offer?

Off handedly, she wondered what type of taste of music he was into. But that was something she either needed to forget about or ask later. She had...was it ‘Rosary by breakdance’? ‘Rosary by bre-Kenance’? What type of artist were they?

Youtube corrected her horrendous search by offering ‘Rosier by brakence’ which sounded so much more like what Corpse recommended than whatever she was thinking about.

Sticking her headphones back in her ears, she ignored the distant sounds of someone frustratingly shouting in some apartment over. She closed her eyes and pressed play, trusted that whatever song this was, it’d actually do something other than betray her.

_ The night did not pass gently. _


	12. woe is me, l'appel du vide - 2

There was a new video posted on Missy Mess’s channel. An hour and nine minutes long.

The thumbnail showed Missy sitting down, her head tilted so she wasn’t looking at the camera, her hands occupied by knitting needles and whatever project she was working on. The title arched over her head, ‘TALK WHILE KNITTING-ANSWERING SOME QUESTIONS’. It was a simpler design, no added filters, no hype over what she was making or doing in the video. Simple.

The video began to play. Missy was already sitting down, looking off to the side which wasn’t her usual way of starting any video. She picked up a pair of knitting needles with an already casted on project, dark blue yarn being thrown to the floor and finally she looked at the camera. She looked tired and worn, but she still gave a smile to the audience.

_ “‘Eyyo,”  _ she greeted, _ “I haven’t been feelin’ too well lately, still feelin’ under the weather from a recent cold so I thought this’ll be a great time ta just sit down and talk to y’all fer a bit. No new project this week, unless you wanna count this sweater I’m making fer myself. Imma just wing it at this point.” _

_ Shit shit no please he wanted to laugh. _

Corpse’s back was aching in pain, his nerves on fire and stupidly sending signals to his brain that just made everything suck ass. He laid in bed with his shirt off, belly down to keep his back free of the sensation of cotton, the cool air not doing much to help but at least it was better than lying on his back where the heat could gather and make him want to _ scream. _

He hadn’t slept in three days and only for four hours at that. Last time he ate was a full twenty-four hours ago but his appetite had since left the building. It was a small mercy that his throat wasn’t burning from GERD acting up but he wasn’t thankful if the trade off was this insistent pain that made him want to strip his flesh off.

His pain medicine had already kicked in and even though the bite had dulled, he could still feel the phantom gnawing in his muscles and he didn’t want to get up, to move, do anything.

_ He just wanted to laugh for a bit. _

_ “On twitter I asked y’all ta send me some questions and y’all pulled on through, thank you fer that. First and foremost I gotta acknowledge this question ‘n answer it cause the few people who asked clearly ‘aven’t watch my channel fer long. _

_ “I do  _ **_not_ ** _ take commissions, I do not sell any of the items I make in my videos, I will not be holdin’ raffles to give them away either. I don’t do commissions because I will never want to undersell my skill set and product but tellin’ all y’all that the ski-hat you want costs sixty-eighty US dollar _ s _ to make when I set myself up with a minimum hourly wage would bring a mob to my front door. Try me bitch, I know the worth of my talent and product, get outta ‘ere with ya highway -fuckin- robbery you be doin’ saying a sweater is worth twenty. Bitch the goddamn materials were worth twenty, a sweater could be two-hundred dollars worth of my time and efforts fuck off my feed.” _

Missy must have been out of it recording this video, her words heavier in slang and accent. Still Californian but with a twang of country. And her voice, though still strong, was much more quieter, not reaching the decibels she could reach when poppin’ off with a rant.

_ “‘What did you do before YouTube?’ I think I gotta mash this with the question, ‘Did you go to college?’ Story of my life: I started knitting and crocheting back when I was seven taught at my grandma’s side. I forgot it then ‘n had ta relearn it in highschool. But then I took a nosedive into the fiber art world. Then as I joined college fer a Communications Major, looked up one day ‘n realized, ‘Wait a fuckin’ minute I’m at a fiberarts festival giving away a free pattern of the deconstruction of a Calvin Klein knit sweater worth four-hundred dollars, I don’t want to get into Communications.’ _

_ “Still got that useless fucking degree but at least I got a fancy piece of paper to wipe my ass. I started actually doing more fiber arts until a friend told me, ‘You know you can do this for YouTube.’ and I took off. I’m so fuckin’ lucky I get ta have my dream job ‘n be independent with an amazing community here that finds my rants funny fer once.” _

During all this, she was knitting, her fingers flying over her work, barely looking down. She would address the camera with the question before looking away to answer, her voice calm and never faltering.

She didn’t have a voice for ASMR, not like so many people believe about Corpse’s own voice which was still unbelievable to him. _ He was just talking. _ Whereas Missy’s voice was high and feminine, not calming at all especially when her tone switches to an opinionated statement that he always found amusing.

_ “‘Did you move?’ Yeah, I moved a few months ago, I’m sure a bunch of ya noticed from recent uploads. Moved down to So-Cal fer work related purposes. I’m not gonna do a workroom tour or anything these other fantastic fiber artist YouTubers be doin’, it’s literally a mess ‘n I ain't sayin’ some cute pun, it's a garbage dump and I don't wanna organize it any time soon.” _

Missy gives the camera an easy smile and Corpse was so fucking jealous that it seemed so easy for her to act normal. Sure, she admitted to not feeling well but she was a _ goddamn liar. _

He heard her screaming and meltdown. He’d seen her just the other night looking like all of her blood had been sucked dry, eyes haunted by demons and ghosts. Corpse knew his neighbor wasn’t okay and he was just so jealous that she can post a video that covered all that mess up and made her seem more human.

_ “‘Are you always so angry?’ Not really,”  _ she admitted, _ “I do play up my reactions alot. They’re real reactions, opinions, and rants but over the years doing YouTube, I have found myself gettin’ louder, more opinionated, sayin’ things I wouldn’t normally say, but it all had to come from somewhere. I do curse a lot, I am more prone to anger than pacifism but I’m actually much more calm and quieter in my everyday life. I could almost bet that my neighbors right now don’t know what I do for a living or even if I actually have friends, which I do.” _

Either she didn’t know that Corpse knows about her channel or she was lying through her teeth. But yes, he could say she was rather quiet, if he didn’t catch the odd times where her rants went above the range her walls could contain.

_ Shit, shit, shit, ‘nother wave of pain, oh god, please kill him now it hurts. It hurts so much. _

_ “‘What do you do when not knitting or crocheting?’ My other hobbies? I love going on hikes over the weekend. I love to cook or learn to cook new things, I’m not a big fan of eating out if I can eat in the comfort of my own home. Reading? Is that still a hobby? It feels much more like an extension of myself than an actual hobby. Writing? I write short stories when I have the time. Good luck findin’ me online. I like ta sing cause I can’t dance ‘r play an instrument. I’m tryin’ to think of things that aren’t related at all to being a fiber artist when my entire life is filled with needles, hooks, and wool and it’s difficult. Ridin’ my bike? Oh, for y’all who don’t know, I ride a motorcycle, check it, I’m one of the cool kids.” _

Okay, okay, it was calming down. His hands were shaking and his breath unsteady but at least it was going away for now.

_ “Oh, for all my questions about my tattoos, I think I’ll be uploading another video focused on them sometime soon. I’d want for it to get warmer out, get a little bit of sun, before showing off cause I’ve got a lot of skin to show.” _

Corpse felt a twinge of unease that always sat low in his belly whenever he watched his neighbor’s videos. She was revealing so much about herself to online followers and...they were still strangers.

Sure, he’ll ask for rosemary, or she’d nod her head in his direction when getting the mail. But she didn’t  _ willingly _ give him so much information about herself. He now knows what college degree she had, that she couldn’t dance, her political leanings, and that she played Stardew Valley only sometimes.

It felt like...he was taking the wrong steps in a conversation they both didn’t even know was happening.

_ “‘I want to be your friend can we be friends?’,” _ the moment she voiced this question her expression went on a face journey of sheer bafflement. She turned to the camera,  _ “What the fuck? _

_ “I know that y’all like my content for different reasons beyond my understand but the fuck? Why would-? Do y’all think I’m nice or somethin’? I guess we can be friends but who's to say you’ll even survive? You got a computer monitor separating me and your bullshit, you think I won’t rip you a new one just cause we’re friends? Fuck no, I’m worse to my friends than I am with you guys. Get on top of your shit and come back to me when that ex-boyfriend you want to talk shit about isn’t still in yer bed. Just cause y’all think you’d like a whistleblowin’ BFF that’s gonna tell it to you straight does not mean you’ll appreciate it. _

_ “My friends appreciate it only because they take me in small doses and they’re of the same mindset. You wanna be friends? Aight let's be friends. Imma see the bullshit you be dealin’ with with no fuckin reason and call that shit out. Come @ me bruh.” _

Shit her dialect turned heavy there.

It made him giggle.

_ “‘Do you have a boyfriend? Are you in a relationship?’ I fuckin’ knew this question was gonna pop up. No, I’m not in a relationship nor am I tryna be. Get outta my DMs with ya dick pics, go find a suga daddy more interested ‘n me.” _

She was obviously getting in the rhythm of reading the questions and answering them quickly, her words slurring together as she got more and more comfortable in front of the camera in a calmer setting.

_ “‘Are you LGBTQ+?’ I very much am,” _ she said without any hesitation or tremble to her voice,  _ “But I ain’t comin’ out to y’all right now, nor probably ever. This channel is not a vlog, this is only a career choice, I won’t be confessing here my sexual, romantic, or gender orientation. If a fellow gay were to come up to me on the street and ask, I may answer ya but don’t expect any answers here.” _

His back muscles were twitching and he wanted to whimper. The pain wasn’t blindingly bad just yet but he would hate if it would start now.

_ “‘Would you be open to collab with someone?’” _

Corpse’s heart stopped.

How would that work?

_ “You know I’ve been thinkin’ bout that,” _ Missy said, looking down at her knitting for a moment,  _ “It’s kinda hard for fiber artists to actually do a collab because the practice is very much an individual skill. You don’t often hear about painters sharing the same canvas, only when they have the same vision in mind. I could try with other fiber artists, but I honestly don’t know how to go about that. _

_ “However,” _ at this she paused, head tilted, eyes staring off in contemplation as to whether to tell her audience what she was planning or not, _ “I have been thinking about reaching out to other YouTubers. I live in So-Cal now, capital of the YouTube scene. I’ve been thinkin’ of contacting other YouTubers to specifically make something just for them and have them model. But then we can have a whole video of them modeling and us shootin’ the shit, talkin’ trash, havin’ a grand ol’ time. But I ain’t some bigtime YouTuber, that’s just a dream of what I can do. Maybe I’ll do small time YouTubers first, see where to go from there.” _

She turned and smiled at the camera, wide and toothy.

_ “Hit me up if you wanna collab, applications now accepted.” _ Missy laughed at her own joke.

Corpse couldn’t breathe.

_ Was that…? _ Was that some passive way of admitting she knew? Missy looked at the camera and said that. She called him a  _ ‘small time YouTuber’ _ . If she knew he was going to be watching this video...did she purposely leave this clip in her video as a way to draw him out?

_ Did she know? _

_ Did she know? _

**_Did she fucking know?_ **

_ “I think that’s it for now guys, I had a great time going through these questions y’all be sendin’ me. Follow me on Twitter and Insta. Like and subscribe to the video and channel while you’re at it. PO box is included in the description below if ya wanna send me mail or yarn, won’t say no to more yarn. Catch ya next week gettin’ messy with Missy Mess. Bye!” _

Corpse would have seen the cute little animation at the end of the video, a chibi version of an animated Missy suddenly getting in a tussle with a yarn ball and getting stuck in a messy ball of yarn if he wasn’t in the throes of an anxiety attack.

_ Did she know? _

_ Did she fucking know? _

He would hate her if she did. He would hate Missy because fuck you.

_ Fuck you _

_ Fuck you _

_ Fuck you _

He didn’t tell her. He didn’t fucking tell her. Corpse doesn’t tell anyone but only a chosen few with real personal connection to him and Missy wasn’t that. She didn’t fucking know him, how dare she fucking figure it out and  _ fuckin- _

_ Who was she? _

Would she ruin everything? Blast to the world who he was, where he lived, split open his privacy for the whole world to see.

**No, fuck you.**

She couldn’t do this to him. This felt like groping hands in his ribcage ripping apart only the interesting bits for her to marvel that, how dare she fucking taunt him like that in her video.

Missy didn’t know him. She and the entire fuckin’ world could think they do but they don’t and she could go fuck up someone else’s life. They know nothing about him and he wanted to keep it that way.

His world was his and he wouldn’t bare it just because she knew where it existed.

He took up his phone again, screen blinding him for a moment before clicking on Missy Mess’s channel.

_ He clicked ‘unsubscribe’. _

Corpse didn’t feel much better.


	13. no quiero estar aquí - 4

Missy would have to admit...

She actually had to do research on GERD, its limits, and recipes that fit the criteria. She didn’t know what to do! She never had to accommodate anyone with GERD before, or even heart burn. Diabetic? Yes. Keto? Yes! Vegan? Hell yeah! GERD?  _ Oh fuck no _ .

It kinda freaked her out a bit at first, thinking that the research would just swallow her whole and spit her out discouraged. But that’s not what happened. Her first instinct was something light but immediately she disregarded the notion. Light meals were the easy way out, no where near a challenge for her and it would be insulting to her pride. So what if Corpse presented her with a challenge she never even considered before. Offering him a salad would be taking the little bitch’s way out.

So, something single-serving and hearty. Something that was unquestionably delicious, something she was familiar with and would be a pretty cool challenge to complete if she did manage to make it without triggering Corpse’s acid reflux.

_ She wanted to make ramen. _

Not top-ramen or cup-o-noodle ramen. She wanted to make real ramen, the shit she’d learned by watching videos and doing her own research. Missy had made ramen for her friends before but she wasn’t super into the practice of it.

She just knew the recipe by heart.

_ Making ramen GERD friendly was the nightmare. _

There was no information anywhere about a GERD-friendly ramen recipe!

So, either ramen somehow wasn’t a common trigger, or no one actually posted online about their own recipe to help a sister out.  _ Fucking shit,  _ she’d have to create her own recipe by breaking down every single factor. It sucks so much worse when she came to realize that GERD had no standard triggering factor. It was different for everyone.

_ Fuuuuuuuuuuuck, _ Missy hated God and his allowance for her existence in the world. Why didn’t her mom abort her when she had the chance? Damn it all, and there was a great possibility that Corpse didn’t even tell her all of his food triggers. Why would he? He probably thought she was only making him her banana bread she had once served him and received his ‘A-Okay’ on, not that she was planning to make him a meal that’d move him to tears.

Shit, and there was a list of things he’s said that he couldn’t eat and needed to watch out for. They were easy to remember, but thinking about her ramen recipe...she might be better off making it completely safe and not just “by the list” safe.

The ramen noodles could be switched to buckwheat soba. Aight, so she ain’t fixin’ ramen but soba makes everything a million times better cause soba was more delicious in her opinion. The broth...she could change the salt content while also adding seaweed as a topping. The fats could be separated as well. Would she have to buy porkbelly? Yes of course she would, but would she be able to eat the rest if she was only serving him a few slices? She could offer some to the couple next door, seeing as how they probably never eaten a good home cooked meal in years with their busy lives.

Great, now she’s cooking for four, that makes everything easier. Carrots for bite and sweetness. Bean sprouts? No, it's fifty-fifty the people who actually like bean sprouts in their soba, might as well take that and bamboo shoots out of the equation. Tofu would be a great mix. Shiitake mushrooms as well. A tamago could never go wrong. And spinach? That just might be the right bitter to draw everything together. And green onions, there was no way she could forget about that.

_ Aight she had her recipe. _

Missy made it a whole day where she cooked the broth. Beef bones and feet. Trimmings and the most unappetizing bits all boiled together, skimmed, then put on a simmer for hours.  _ Hours _ . The timing of Barbeque Masters and Brisket saints be her mentors, she took half a day to make that broth delicious, adding umami, soy sauce, mirin, and everything else to make it taste like the blood of Naruto Uzumaki.

She didn’t know how to make buckwheat soba noodles from scratch(yet) so she had to buy them from the Asian Supermarket. She garnished everything together, her aged tamago her crowning jewel, took a seat and taste tested her substituted mix first, pride never allowing her to serve anything subservient then delicious.

_ Oh fuck, it was. _

She was done by nine at night, a full thirteen hours from where she started. Her kitchen was a mess, her house smelled like beef broth, she had been ignoring the pile of projects she needed to actually be working on, and her MP3 had run out of ideas on what to play for her.

It made her tempted to try out Spotify.

...Nah, she’ll just continue pirating music off of YouTube like it’s 2005 again and live with it.

Now presentation.

She could hand out her own soup bowls and pray her neighbors bring them back. For a second she imagined doing the exact opposite, going to their doors with her pot and demanding they get their own fucking bowls for her to serve food to them.

_ That would be hilarious. _

But also really disturbing. Like, Oliver Twist disturbing or something along those lines.

Missy decided to serve them in tupperware, seeing as how it’d be so much easier to give to her neighbors in neat little packages and not as a spill risk. Spoons or forks? Nah, they have their own cutlery, she ain’t giving away her good silver.

_ Ha, like she owned silver to begin with. _

Soba now packed, Missy had the brief thought of, _ ‘oh shit, what if the neighbors aren’t home?’  _ But...so what? Missy knew one of them had to be home by now, all she needed was the one to take both offerings and stick them in the fridge to keep from spoiling.

Confident now, she picked up the three containers and left her apartment with a battleplan in mind. She first knocked on the door opposite of hers, Missy not allowing herself to think too much unless she wanted to mess up the ‘perfectly normal neighbor’ script she had goin’ in her head.

The door opened not a minute later, a woman probably a little older than Missy herself poking her head out of her apartment while keeping her body firmly hidden from sight. The woman was small in stature, Korean-american, she looked just as baffled at Missy’s appearance at her door as she was realising that...Missy didn’t even know her neighbor’s name, their faces. All she had seen were glimpses of side profiles, the backs of their heads as they walked away down the walkways or to their cars.

Shuffling the three containers into one hand, Missy stuck out her palm and greeted, “Hi, I haven’t introduced myself to you but I’m Missy, your thirty-four neighbor.”

“Natalie,” her neighbor replied, now stepping out of her comfortable abode now that she deemed it safe.

“This may seem odd,” Missy said, separating the containers so that two were in one hand and one in the other, “But I’ve made more soba that I’ll actually eat. And I thought since you guys don’t get to eat much homemade food, I can serve a few bowls, ready to reheat and serve.”

“Oh!” The look of genuine surprise and gratefulness was priceless, “Thank you so much. Are you sure? We’ll clean the tupperware before we give it back to you.”

“It’s fine, it’d be more a waste if there was no one else to enjoy it. I hope you have a good evening.”

“Thank you so much, it’s been so nice to meet you and we will!” Missy moved on, her side quest completed, opposite door closing behind her in a soft thud.

_ Now the boss battle. _

Fucking piece of shit, Corpse will eat her food and he better not find anything wrong about it.

He was the first to stand up for her in a situation where she was alone. That warranted a warm meal, right? Missy crossed her fingers and hoped he accepted it cause she hated feeling like she didn’t pay him back for stepping in when she needed the back up. And she needed to have a redo from her past clumsy trade off with him and the banana bread she had taken offense over for no fuckin’ reason.

She knocked on his door, fully expecting a lengthy wait cause the last time she saw him...when was it...a few days ago? A week maybe? Well he looked like an actual corpse, there was no way she was going to expect him to be bright and chipper today.

Missy was just about to give up, having stood there at his door for an inordinate amount of time, before she heard a door chain sliding open.

Half of his body edged its way out the door, hiding anything within his own house and there was the oddest expression in his face that she couldn’t discern. His face was still covered, his dark curly hair somewhat greasy looking and stuck to his forehead like he wanted to bring the emo phase back to its former glory by himself. But...there was an intense look about his eyes that she couldn’t ignore.

As is their tradition not to let each other speak upon first sight, she held up her container full of soba noodles and said, “I made something for ya and a recipe so you can check over my work.”

His brow pinched together as if he was frowning before he shut the door in her face.

_...some people be fuckin’ rude. _

Missy was just about to go back to her apartment, wanting to throw in the towel and finally declare that any sociable interaction with Corpse was a lost cause and comparable to meeting a feral cat with ticks up its ass, when she heard something  _ bang! _ from within his apartment. It made her pause for the fifteen seconds he needed for the door to open again.

He still looked unhappy to see her, almost grimancing when he stuck his hand out.

“Lemme see.”

Handing over the container first, Missy fished out her recipe with its list of detailed facts. Did Corpse even know the calorie/sodium content of mirin? Could he even tell soba noodles from regular ramen or even udon (though udon was a pretty easy noodle to differentiate)? Corpse looked over the list, eyes narrowed and really, Missy wanted to get offended again cause what the fuck was he sneering at?

_ What the fuck was this guy’s problem? _

But she didn’t allow herself offense. It’s been proven that Missy could read too far into things and she didn’t want to misunderstand this time around.

“Impressive,” he said, not at all sounding impressed, before sliding the recipe to the bottom of the container for him to open the lid. She was kinda surprised cause why the hell was he eating out in the middle of the corridor when he probably had a much comfier chair or couch inside?

Also, the situation made it that she couldn’t just leave. It was him showing her his reaction to the food and though that in itself was a gift, Missy found it awkward and wanted to go home.

“Did your research,” he noted, the container opened and a whiff of still warm broth spreading.

“Had to,” she said while shrugging her shoulders, “I’d be the shame of my family if I couldn’t serve food to anyone.”

“Smells good,” he admitted, dumping a fork he had previously gotten from within his kitchen into the broth before grabbing his black medical mask by the chin and then staring at her expectantly.

Missy really wasn’t thinking, just somewhat confused as to why he paused from eating  _ -who the hell would ever pause from eating, that’s insane-  _ looking back up at him to see that he was looking at her weirdly.

_ Again. What the fuck is his problem? Did she say something? _

It slowly clicked into place.

Eating food. Hand on mask. Glaring at her. Hand on mask.  **Mask.**

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Yeah, I’ll look away, sorry.”

She turned her back towards Corpse, somewhat surprised that she didn’t think about it before. Was...he insecure about his face? Wow, pulling a literal Kakashi Hatake move there but whatever. Missy didn’t care, whatever made him comfortable in his own skin was his business.

“It’s good,” Corpse declared at her back and she didn’t dare turn back around without his say so. She felt a poke at her shoulder and she took that as well enough permission, turning to see that while no, he didn’t finish his food (he’s not an actual anime character that could eat in a split second like a certain shinobi) but one of the pork belly slices was gone.

“‘M glad,” Missy said, a quiet pride at her accomplishment glowing from within, “Again, thanks for helping me out when I needed it.”

_ What the hell? _ His expression had changed. The...anger that was there before was replaced with something inquisitive, searching. Whatever the fuck was on his mind, Missy wanted no trouble with it.

“Do you listen to Corpse Husband on YouTube?”

_ That came out of fuckin’ nowhere. _

“How the fuck do you know what I listen to on YouTube?”

He seemed surprised at her sharpness and it caused her to reflect and actually think before she went for someone’s throat next.

The walls of their apartment were pretty thin, maybe he heard her listening to him and recognized the YouTuber? Corpse seemed to be into whatever her brother listened to nowadays, she shouldn’t be so surprised that he recognized what videos she was watching with only wood between them.

She just...instinctively felt defensive about it because of what and who Corpse Husband actually meant to  _ her. _

“Sorry,” she said apologetically before answering his question, “Yeah, I do. Not a whole lot cause some of his videos freak me the fuck out but I listen to him before sleeping. Is that how you heard me?”

He gave the tiniest of nods before saying, “What do you think of him?”

For someone who sounded so similar to the YouTuber, Corpse was completely different. Corpse Husband didn’t seem to be afraid of anything, reading horrible stories with nary a tremble to his voice while narrating gruesome scenes. And though that could all just be editing, practice, and storytelling skill, that unwavering tone was better than any ASMR she ever tried in the past. Her neighbor Corpse on the other hand, seemed much more insecure about the space he occupied than her own imagined perspective of a faceless YouTuber.

_ Was he…? Was he trying to be sociable? _ She asked him about an edgy song to listen to, he asked her what she thought about some YouTuber he may be a fan of.  _ Wow, and she thought her brother had poor social skills, this guy was fucked. _

“I like his more True Stories videos than the obviously made up stuff. The confessions of cops and EMT’s, the ‘I know ghosts exist’ ones. I don’t like the ‘walked down the street in the dark’ videos cause I have the worst second hand empathy syndrome. He’s cool to listen to as I work.”

“Have you been listening to his music?”

Huh, seemed like emo-boy really was a fan. Missy herself only stumbled onto his music playlist accidentally. She shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s good, I like the style of certain beats and some lyrics but they’re not about an inclusive experience. They’re more personalized songs which, do your thing and all, but I have a hard time relating to cat girls wanting my dick.”

It startled a brief laugh from him, stifled just as fast as if he hadn’t meant to show a reaction.

_ Damn, whatever he was hung up over was really fucking him up. _

“Got anymore artist recommendations?” Missy asked, sensing a lull in the conversation and picking it up. If he really was trying to draw similarities between each other to form some sort of comrade, might as well make it easy for him and go halfway.

Corpse seemed startled by the question as if not even realizing that she could turn it back on him. He said instinctively, “Bohnes. I’ve been listening to him for a bit. Can’t think of anybody else right now.”

_ Bohnes. Bohnes. Bohnes. _ She heard that name before. Zach linked her some audio, she remembered thinking, ‘Cool spelling’ but couldn’t think of the song. What was it? What was it?

_ Got it. _

“He’s the one who made ‘Raging on a Sunday’?” she asked, already knowing she was right, slightly bobbing her head to the chorus she could remember. When he nodded in the affirmative, Missy said, “That’s the only song I know. I loved it but Imma hafta listen to the rest of his albums when I get the chance.”

“You do that.”

_ Was he sick? _

Corpse didn’t look so good, pale skinned, hand shaking the container of food, eyes unfocused even as they looked at her.  _ Shit, was he really sick? _ Missy had to cut it short.

“Well, I’m glad that you liked the food,” she said, “Gimme back my tupperware when yer done, ‘kay? Hope you have a good night.”

“G’night.”

The reply was quiet, listless, as if he wasn’t even fully aware of speaking before he said it.

Missy went back into her apartment, closing the door shut behind her and thinking.

He did not look well. Whatever he was dealing with was fucking him up and not in a friends-with-benefits way but like domestic abuse way. It made all her instincts want to reach out and help, he needed to sit down immediately and tuck his feet up, god he looked ready to faint at his doorstep.

_ But that would be unwelcome. _

Corpse didn’t even allow a glimpse of the inside to his apartment when she wasn’t even looking for it, there was no way he would let her even touch him even if it was to help.

Fuck, she hoped he was alright.

She hoped he could take care of himself.


	14. woe is me, l'appel du vide - 3

As Corpse washed Missy’s tubberware, he thought long and hard about the situation he found himself in with his neighbor.

_ What. The. Fuck. _

This shit was the plot of sitcoms.

Two ‘celebrities’ move in next door to each other. Turns out they know each other’s “stage names” and are fans, only for the plot twist to be revealed.

One does not know who the other really is.

_ Was this real? _ What sick director is profiting off his life, as sad and depressing as it was? How did it even come to this? And to make matters worse, it was he who knows her stage name and therefore the irony is his as well!

_ Did...did this shit happen in real life? _ He wanted to deny it because in sitcoms, reality isn’t real and he wasn’t suffering from chronic pain and mental illness. Sitcoms were the fantasy realm of the privileged and Corpse lived too long in marginalized society to ever believe that shit like what he and Missy had was real.

Was Missy being deliberately oblivious? She seemed so genuine, talking about what she knew about his YouTuber persona and not even...did she really not know that it's been him all along?

_ Was this real? _

He wanted it to be real. No, he was going to believe it was. He was choosing to believe that Missy didn’t know his real identity, that her gift of the scarf wasn’t a move on a game of chess, that her thanks of food wasn’t fueled by some nefarious scheme to get to know “the real Corpse Husband” when…

_ The real Corpse Husband was a piece of shit. _

The real Corpse suffered from anxiety, depression, fibromyalgia, GERD, insomnia, sleep apnea, a fucking ton of nerve damage, childhood trauma, and god knows everything else he’s never even wanted to admit to his followers. There’s some shit he was taking to the grave with him, let alone his social anxiety, agoraphobia, and raging paranoia.

_ He wasn’t good for anyone. _

_ He was barely good for himself. _

Missy was someone he wanted to believe extended a hand in kindness from true intentions. She seemed so genuine, never hinting that Corpse and Corpse Husband were one and the same, almost admitting she was a light fan in comparison to the thirsty hordes that even stalked his PO box.

_ That type of kindness. That type of honest to god kindness was what he wanted more of in his life. _

He wanted to believe in it.


	15. fuckin' break a mirror - 1

It started at ten-thirty.

The whole building must have heard someone stomping up the stairs in a run, a loud _slam!_ Being heard like a body knocking against a wall and the rapid _bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!_ Of that person knocking furiously on someone’s door.

_“Corpse get the fuck out your house! You fuck my girl man? You fuck my girl?!”_

Missy had been on her couch looking through her emails on her computer when all this went down. She instantly dropped everything, moving to the coat closet by her front door. While the shouting continued, she took out her broom and unscrewed the head so that she had a long five foot pole in one hand, unlatching the bowie knife she kept sharp and hidden away.

If she had more room in the corridor, she would have first brought out her baseball bat but that wasn’t an option here. So stick to keep people away, and knife for if they touch her.

Missy peeked through the peephole and barely saw the shadow of the other person at Corpse’s door. A child was screaming downstairs, probably scared from the noise. Nelson’s dog was barking from behind their own door and she knew she couldn’t hope for the other man to pull out his gun again. _In such close quarters, a gun would do nothing but make a situation much worse._

_“Come out here motherfucker so I can beat your ass! Get out here, little White bitch!”_

It was the racial rage that consumed her, turning that switch in her head on until she felt no nerves or fear. Corpse wasn’t fucking _White_ , and everything within her demanded she take offense for that.

_Corpse’s door opened._

Missy didn’t hear what he said, his voice at a low murmur. She listened carefully, not hearing exactly what was said, but still...listening.

_“Fucking bitch,”_ she heard whoever was making a racket, _“I know you’ve been fucking my girl, Imma fuck you up!”_

Missy yanked her door open, taking one foot outside while tucking the broomstick behind her.

“Baby! Baby, I haven’t been fucking anyone, come back down.”

She didn’t recognize the guy up in Corpse’s grill, snarling like a dog who didn’t know when he was playin’ with the big boys. His girl stood at the top stair, arm taking a hold of her boyfriend’s sleeve as if that’d stop him. Corpse himself looked pissed, forearm locked in front of him to keep the guy out his face.

“Fuck. Off,” he _growled_ , “Haven’t fucked your girl and if you don’t back off-”

“You threatening me?!” the other guy was livid and living in a delusion.

Missy didn’t move. She watched, silent and impassive, moving her stick out from behind her to at the ready. The girlfriend noticed her and she kept wide frightened eyes on her while uselessly tugging for her boyfriend’s attention.

It was useless to get involved, to try and deter people when they were like this. This was the sort of situation where she truly believed that little bitches got put down, not because of back up. People who were simply _better,_ prove themselves here by putting _trash_ in their place. An insecure _cuck_ kicking up a fuss needed to be reminded that bigger men than he was would fuck him up.

She didn’t know if Corpse was Alpha like that, but it was her instinctive response so she stood and watched for a moment. If the _cuck_ proved to be more than a hassle, she’d step in.

“I’ll fuck you up!” he was shouting and other people in their own apartments were shouting back for him to shut the fuck up, “You and your little bitch, I’ll beat your ass and fuck your little girlfriend!”

Corpse already had a hold on _Cuck_ and within a split second he slammed him against the wall to the outside corridor, the girlfriend screaming in fright at the loud _thud!_ That came out of it.

He was dazed from the hit, and trapped against the wall with Corpse crowding him.

_“Do it and I’ll beat your ass,”_ Corpse threatened but with his voice so deep, it sounded much more than a string of words than what the guy had tried before. _“I’ll fuckin’ break you.”_

The girlfriend was uselessly crying and this time she reached out to tug Corpse off her boyfriend. Corpse threw the guy at her, making them both stumble and almost fall down the stairs, snarling out, “Go home.”

_Cuck_ properly spanked, glaring at Corpse and shooting glares Missy’s way as well, retreated down the stairs as his girlfriend fretted behind him. Just out of sight, they started to squabble among each other, the girlfriend calling him stupid for trying to pick a fight and the boyfriend calling her a whore for sleepin’ around. An apartment door _bang!_ Shut and Missy figured out that the couple were a downstairs neighbor she wasn’t privy to. But Corpse was.

Turning back to him, Corpse didn’t look worse for wear, though still tense and rearing for a fight that never happened.

“What’s a stick for if you’re not gonna step in?” he asked her tersely.

“You had it under control,” Missy excused, relaxing her own grip around her stick/staff and without a single thought, moved to tuck her bowie knife into her belt loops cause she wanted at least one hand free. When she looked back up, his expression was wide eyed and staring at her knife and she found herself snickering.

“You were going to pull a fuckin’ knife on the guy?”

“You wouldn’t?” not that she expected him to keep a knife at the ready for attack, _that habit was all her’s_. She said, “I didn’t have to, you had it down.”

“Would you have if I didn’t?”

The look he tossed her was searching, testing. She was taking an exam and she didn’t study or have a cheat sheet. _God, would he understand or would he think her crazy?_ She said honestly, “I want to say that I would but that would have depended if the girlfriend threw herself into the fight. Can’t say what I’d’ve done in certain situations cause it’d be wishful thinkin’.”

The expression on his face...it was like he didn’t know what to do with her. It made her back up because obviously he didn’t like her response, no matter how truthful it wasn’t.

“Does this happen often?” she asked, wanting to know the threats that lived in her building.

Come to think about it, didn’t _Cuck_ allude to her being Corpse’s girlfriend? Did he notice her there with her staff and thought she was backing Corpse up like his girlfriend was at his back? Well shit, she didn’t care for the implications cause who the fuck cares about the thoughts of sheep and trash but if that’s a delusion he wanted to believe in...did that make her a target? Maybe _Cuck_ wouldn’t want to confront her, or maybe he would, tryna slide into her space like a goddamn leech or somethin’. That’d be awful. _But she would love the opportunity to break someone’s nose._

“No,” Corpse said, “But he has talked some mad shit before. Ignore ‘im.”

“He lives downstairs. What number?”

“Don’t try and talk to the manager about it, they won’t do anything,” Corpse said but Missy had a growing smile on her face that _freaked him out._

“What number?”

“You’re scaring me a little,” he admitted, hesitant but intrigued.

“I’ll set everything up, ain’t gonna tell you out in the corridor.”

“What the hell are you planning?”

“Nothing!” she lied, a shit-eating grin on her face and eyes glittering with mischief, “Don’t worry about it, I got everything covered.”

“What-”

Missy laughed _loudly,_ obnoxiously, to cover up his words and silence him. Already plans were flying through her head and she couldn’t have her neighbor ruining it, especially since their enemy was so close.

“I’ve got it!” she reassured, waving a free hand in the air, stepping back into her apartment, “See ya, Corpse!”

Door shut behind her, she let her expression change to pure evil.

Sometimes, an offense must be dealt with cold silence. But other times...her favorite times…

_Retribution had to be exacted._


	16. fuckin' break a mirror - 2

Three days later, there was a knock on Corpse’s door.

_ At the worst time possible. _

Corpse’s schedule was shit, what with his eating habits and sleep abnormalities, he tried his best to keep himself on time to daily chores, exercises, and work but something always messed it up.

Noon was the fuckin’ worst. Right after he had eaten lunch, his brain always goes onto this “stand-by” mode that basically him sitting around, lazy as fuck but not being able to take a nap. It was the worst, cause he didn’t even want to do anything that could be considered as work, not reading emails, not listening to music. He just wanted to go on Twitter and Insta, look up the recent memes and just not think for once.

_ But there was a knock on his door. _

Thankfully it wasn’t when he had gotten himself comfortable on his couch, rising to his feet slowly and looking out through the peephole.

Missy stood there on the other side of the door, with a bucket in one hand, a smile on her face, and jittery on caffeine or somethin’.

Corpse opened the door, thoroughly confused and not in his right mind to think at the moment. He didn’t even have to speak, reliably Missy was the one who spoke up first, “I have everything ready to go and I’m gonna do it anyway with or without your presence or permission. Wanna join me?”

_ Not at all vague or criminalizing. _

“What are you talking about?” he asked, shaking his head a little to wake the fuck up and pay attention.

“I’m ‘pranking’ your neighbor,” she explained, raising the paint tub full of stuff to use, “He and his girlfriend are out, not gonna get back till seven. That’ll be enough time to fuck shit up.”

“Oh shit,” he said, taking a closer peek inside to see bottles of some liquid he didn’t know, “For real? And isn’t this a little...?”

Missy rolled her eyes and said, “This is an adult prank, I'm about to ruin that man’s living space I don’t give a fuck. So are you in or nah?”

_ Corpse...was a petty fuck. _

And this awakened something gleeful inside.

“Yeah,” he said, “What do you have in mind?”

She led him outside with her bucket towards a space in between the apartment buildings. Kinda shady lookin’ but the whole neighbor was shady lookin’ and wouldn’t mind them. When they were tucked out of sight from potential neighbors or people walking’ the street, she knelt and started pulling out the items in the paint bucket.

Bottles of something called ‘Durian Juice’ that he had no idea what for, a single bottle that was encased in a single napkin before contained with a ziplock bag (suspiciously), a jar of coconut oil and multiple strings of condoms.

A few of them he could immediately guess what they were for, but some he had no clue. He knelt down beside her and asked, “What’s this durian juice for?”

“I wanted real durian but this’ll be good,” she said while unrolling condoms and filling them with raw coconut oil, “Shit stinks. Like, really fuckin’ stinks. Don’t open it here and take a whiff, you’ll probably smell it when we pour it into his vents.”

“How the fuck are we getting into his vents?” he asked because was that a real thing you can do? He didn’t know.

_ Suddenly, all those jokes about Missy being a thief, practitioner of property damage, and on the run from the law didn’t seem like a joke anymore. _

“Papa fixes buildings,” Missy explained, startling him a bit cause he had never heard anyone actually use the word ‘Papa’ in real life. Cute. “Mostly apartment buildings that are filled with termites but he’s told me a thing or two about apartment complex vents.”

“Are we gonna break in?” Corpse asked, hoping this was all a joke but her lengthy pause did not reassure him at all, “Missy?”

“I mean we could,” she mused, “Depends on if he changed his locks or not. And if we really wanted to, we can check the windows for entrance.”

Corpse took hold of Missy’s arm, staring at her wide eyed cause fucking shit he wanted to be petty, he wanted a fun prank, not to get into real trouble by BnE. Missy must have understood him just by looking at his eyes (which was really strange considering) and started laughing.

“No! We’re not breaking into the guy’s apartment, probably disgusting to be in there. We’ll be outside the entire time but really fucking him up.” She picked up the bottle in the ziplock bag. “See this? This is my homemade poison oak/ivy oil. I’m gonna be smearing it on his door knobs. The guy’s car is still here since Friday’s he always leaves with his friends, so we can really fuck up his day on that.”

Not fucking wonder it was in a ziplock bag, what she had was a goddamn bioweapon. Poison oak and ivy? Where the shit did she get that?

“I could’ve helped,” he said, joining her efforts in opening up all the condoms and putting coconut oil to tie them off. The bottom of the paint bucket was already littered in a kaleidoscope of colors, all of them from “used” condoms that were sure to set him off.

“You’ve done enough,” she said, “Bashing his head against a wall was a good wake up call but this is mine. You don’t fuckin’ act like that and not suffer consequences.”

“Bruised his pride,” he pointed out.

“What worth is his pride if he’s worthless?” Missy said brutally, “There’s no such thing as pride when you’re a little insecure bitch still suckin’ on yo mama’s tit. Fuck him, he doesn’t get to pull a tantrum and not get his ass beat for it. Don’t know where he gets it from, I got hit whenever we went to the store and I raised a fuss.”

_ Whoa. _

Corpse...didn’t know this Missy.

It was obvious that there were certain aspects to Missy that were left out of her videos and he had only caught glimpses of them in real life.

The balls to stand up against child-snatchers. The angry screaming over the phone and meltdown. Callous words and vague references that left him always wondering. The joke’s that might not totally be jokes. The food. The fight in her eyes. The fight in her words. _ The fight. _

_ Everything about her seemed so much bigger than what he’d ever seen before. _

“We’re getting his car too?” he asked, picking up the last string of condoms to open.

“Yeah, but I don’t have anything special for it,” Missy said, “Gonna hafta spread the durian and poison a little thin.”

_ “Qué estás haciendo aquí,” _ said a voice behind them, _ “What are you doing here?” _

They both twisted around, fear over getting caught pumping adrenaline into his veins making him feel like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. But this was much worse.

But the person before them wasn’t a manager or security.

_ It was a downstair’s neighbor. _

Mother of the family of four. A short woman standing at an impressive four-foot-nine, with dark brown skin and dark hair pulled back in a braided bun. Her expression was so unimpressed by them, lookin’ more like she was about to mother the two adults than hold anyone to authority.

“Sorry,” Missy said, her head ducking down and sheepish, “I don’t know any-”

Corpse cut her off cause even if she didn’t know any spanish, he knew enough to get by.

_ “This is for our neighbor,” _ he said, stumbling over his words,  _ “The one in twenty-eight. This isn’t meant for anyone else.” _

“I know who it's for,” the woman said, having switched to heavily accented english, probably for Missy’s sake who looked embarrassed, “Come with me and I’ll help.”

_ What? _

The look exchanged between him and Missy wasn’t subtle, both of them confused as all hell and bewildered with what she said. The woman,  _ Maria he thinks her name is _ , led them out from behind the building back to the front door where their other upstairs neighbor, Nelson, was waiting with his burly arms crossed.

“Could’ve waited a week,” he admonished them, staring hard at Missy as if he knew that all this was more her plotting than Corpse’s, “We could’ve had more shit done.”

Somewhere in between them getting caught and now, Missy had gotten over her embarrassment and was back in control.

“Not my fault if you weren’t ready,” she said with a scoff.

Maria hastened them inside the building where they actually had to squeeze through cause…

_ Everyone was there. _

The firestarter woman and her partner, Maria with her husband and kids, Nelson standing by a black garbage bag. Weed man and granny/grandpa duo weren’t there but it was everyone of importance. And they all looked _ to them. _

“We all heard you that night three days ago,” firestarter-woman said,  _ what was her name? _ “That you were planning something and were gonna drag Corpse here along. We want in.”

“Boy not good,” Maria said and gestured to her kids, “No good to be around. Don’t want my daughters listening to him.” Her husband nodded in silent solidarity, one step behind his wife but in full support as his two daughters stood there vibrating with excitement for what was happening.

“I hate the stupid fuck,” Nelson piped in, “Next time he stomps back upstairs, I’ll give ‘im hell.”

Corpse looked around to all his neighbors. They all never interacted, keeping to their own homes and schedules without really knowing each other but it would seem that hatred could unite nations cause the existence of one bad neighbor really tipped them into an alliance.

_ The best crossover since the Avengers movie. _

Corpse looked at Missy to witness her bright smiling face, nearly rosy with joy and excitement over having so many people helping. This honestly was her mess to deal with, Corpse being dragged along for the ride, and she seemed to _ thrive. _

“Aight,” she said, “Let’s get started.”

  
  
  


By the time Corpse got back to his apartment, it was four in the evening and he was tired as shit.

What they done...what they all done…

_ Priceless. _

“Used condom” garlands decorated the windows and doorway. Poisonous oil smeared on places where the guy’s hand _ had _ to touch. Missy showed him how to actually break into someone else’s vent for future reference (what future reference he had no clue but it was nice to have that backup knowledge)and they poured durian juice into the vents and soaked paper towels to make the stink last longer. And holy shit did it stink.

Good to know that durian juice smelled like grapefruit lighterfluid. It fuckin’ burned to smell and the memory seered into his senses, probably never to be forgotten.

Everyone else had already prepared their own ‘prank’ they wanted to exact.

Maria’s daughters had to be guided to glitterbombing the fuck out of the guy’s car. _ All the glitter. All of it.  _ Chucked into the guy’s car until it was near to bursting. Best part? If the guy didn’t turn on his air soon, he’ll get a belated surprise come warmer weather.

Corpse looked away when he saw Maria’s husband approach the car with a gallon of water. There’s no fuckin’ way he was gonna incriminate himself by looking at that.

_ Nelson’s black bag was a treasure. _

Bags upon bags of tied off dog shit.

A little disgusting thinking about the time it had to take for his little dog to actually shit that much and for the man to be collecting it, but Corpse wasn’t going to judge. Missy was the one who helped Nelson open the bags up to smear dog shit over the guy’s windows, her face covered with a mask and her hands covered with cleaner gloves that were rubber banded to her biceps.

He was surprised to find out more about the firestarter woman and her partner, Natalie and Adam. Adam had heard what had gone down the night it happened and at first opportunity he had gone into work and brought bags upon bags of pig blood and extra cuttings that would have been incinerated. Adam worked at a butchery. You don’t want to know what he’d done with it all.

Corpse wasn’t at all surprised when Natalie came out with her firecrackers, claiming that she had gotten them from an uncle of hers and was perfect to jury-rig into the guy’s car. Tuck the cylinder firecrackers and noise makers into the front and back bumper, tuck a line along the right side of the car so that when the guy opened and closed the driver’s side door, the car was set to go off like an early Fourth of July celebration.

And Missy accused him of being an arsonist.

_ They straight up had a pyromaniac in their building. _

Maria took the whole fucking cake.

She was there watching them all gleefully go about plotting, giggling and laughing together at all the shitty ways their neighbor would suffer. When all was said and done, she had gone back inside her house and came back out with a dinner knife and something pale in her hand.

She didn’t explain anything. She nailed whatever it was in her hand to the door with her knife, punching a hole through and keeping it there as the actual threat in the midst of their fun.

_ Maria nailed a cow tongue to his door, bloody and pale cold. _

_ The poetry about it was inspiring. _

The kids had fun, already shouting and running around in excitement, their first example of vengeance. Adam and Natalie left soon after, going back to their apartment and who knows who had the next shift with them. Nelson went home with a grim nod to his head, taking his chihuahua out for a walk one last time before bolting the door behind him.

Missy was one of the last to linger outside, watching everyone take their leave before turning back to Corpse with a wide smile on her face.

“Break me in,” Corpse said.

_ Her smile fell. _

“What?”

“You said we could break in if we wanted to,” he said, looking her in the eye to show how serious he was, “I want to.”

A complex filter of emotion twisted her face but most obviously was her indecision. What she said before and passed as a joke…

_ He was calling her out. _

That wasn’t a joke. She knew how to break into apartment buildings. Missy was just unsure whether to actually admit to her special skill set or lie/joke/deny it as was probably her first reaction.

“Missy please,” he asked once again, explaining himself, “Everyone else got their payback. I don’t want to be riding off your revenge plot when it all comes to bite him in the ass, I want my part in it as well. Help me break in.”

He could almost see when her mind was changed, a Missy he was only just coming to know as his real neighbor taking him seriously and stepping up. A Missy who was more than willing to do what needed to be done.

_ “What do you need?” _

It was frighteningly simple to break into the guy’s apartment. With the confidence of a big dicked hill billie, Missy first tried the door, hands encased in gloves so that she didn’t get poisoned by her own bioweapon.

“If you don’t switch out your screws,” she explained while giving the door a wiggle, “I could kick in the door and it won’t even break. Might crack the doorway but it won’t raise any red flags on the outside.”

Corpse remembered back when he met Missy’s dad, how he was dismantling her door lock and putting a new one in. It made him wonder about if he should trade in his own lock. His chain wouldn’t stop anyone from really breaking in if they wanted to.

“A simple lock cutting would snap that shit like a pasta noodle,” Missy said when he brought it up, “Or a crooked coat hanger. They serve best when you’re already behind the door and calling the cops.”

Turns out, though the guy was pretty stupid as to not have a doorchain or a lock that could beat Missy.

_ She fucking broke it from the outside. _

“Windows would have been easier,” she admitted as the door swung open to a dark apartment, her voice instinctively lowering to a murmur as if not to be heard even though no one was in.

Missy’s job was done. She didn’t enter the apartment but stood at the door as a sort of watch. It made him braver stepping forward to exact his own form of petty payback.

Inside was exactly what you would expect: a clashing array of bachelor pad and proof that his girlfriend existed there as well. The smell was off putting, kinda sour mixed with old pot. Corpse didn’t touch anything, feeling a sense of unease being inside someone else’s house he had no business being in but he persisted.  _ Stupid fuck was getting what was coming to him. _

He went into the guy’s bathroom, not paying attention to anything more than the spread of his girlfriend’s makeup. He took out of his own pocket a single tube of lipstick, light pink almost nude color, nothing like what the girlfriend would actually wear, and he put it right there in the midst of her other things, _ an imposter. _

Next, he went to the guy’s fridge, not at all reaching to open it for a look inside but looking at all the magnets and notes. There, on the side, was a phone number labeled next to ‘Mom’. He took a photo of that before moving on.

It wouldn’t do to actually set this guy off knowing that someone’s been in his apartment, especially with what they had done (the view out the windows was glorious to behold) but it wouldn't hurt to raise his TV volume, take all the toilet paper out the bathroom, and reorganize his movie collection to an order of his choosing.

When he was done, he almost ran out of the empty apartment, unnerved with being there alone. Missy shut the door behind him, and reset the lock with whatever trick she had and hadn’t explained to him yet.

“Everything good?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he answered, pulling out his phone to show her his prize.

_ The massive smile and gasp of joy was worth it. _

“That’s so bad,” she said in awe, face lighting up with all the terrible things they could do, “I love it.”

Shit’s only getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realistically, neighbors coming together to really fuck someone's day, I haven't personally experienced.
> 
> Though I have experienced all of these forms of "Fuck You" messages over several periods of my life. I just couldn't help myself mashing them all together for this lovely picnic of "Fuck You" that's been goin' on.
> 
> Also, if there are people out there thinkin' "The guy didn't deserve all this." Then you obviously never had him before as your neighbor. This kind of fucker deserves all the hell in the world.


	17. glass shatter, gums bleed, off the fuckin everclear - 3

“-so guy hasn’t come back to his apartment yet,” Missy said over the phone, a smile spread wide over her face as she made her weekly shopping trip to the supermarket. “But most likely he will tonight if not tomorrow. God, you should see how gleeful the two little kids are with their faces pressed against the window, hearing me come down the stairs to get mail. They can’t wait for this guy to come home and see what they’ve done.”

Ari was howling in laughter on the other side of the phone.

Missy wished she called her little sister more often, but she had her own group of friends, her own relationship she made time for everyday. She didn’t need her older sister to be her helicopter mother hen.

“And you don’t even want know what Adam did with the pig’s blood,” she added, just to make Ari’s laughter worse.

_ “No! No! Please! Tell me! Oh, I’m crying and I can’t breathe, Missy please tell me,”  _ Ari said over the phone in wheezes and snorts.

“Nope!” Missy answered back, “Not gonna tell ya!”

_ “You’re so mean to me!”  _ Ari complained but didn’t really mean,  _ “At least tell me later? I wanna know everything that goes down.” _

“I will,” Missy promised, picking up a bag of cornmeal. She wanted to make cornbread one of these days. “But tell me what you’ve been up to. How’s it been?”

_ “Well, I haven’t gone full on turf war yet,” _ her sister said,  _ “Tina’s been friendly but she hasn’t been...yeah. There was one thing that happened. Something small and stupid but it really upset me.” _

_ Upset. _

Missy got enraged, pissed off, furious, batshit insane.

Zach goes mental, feral, screaming, and vengeful.

Ari gets  _ upset. _

“What happened?” Missy asked, making sure to keep her voice calm and impassive, not at all defensive which was always her first instinct.

Ari was kind. Her nature was kind; her deposition, first reaction, instinct was to always be kind. She had a heart full of love and it was her choice to keep it soft and to extend it to everyone she ever loved. It was in her blood, the works of her hands, the path at her feet.

_ Love. _

Missy didn’t believe in God, but knowing her sister, she could almost believe that there were saints.

_ “She called me ‘princess’,” _ Ari admitted over the phone,  _ “Only Papi can call me that and she didn’t...it didn’t feel like she was calling me that. ‘Princess.’” _ At the repeat of the word with a different tone, Missy understood what she was trying to say.

“Have you said anything?”

_ “No,” _ Ari sighed over the phone,  _ “It’s not a big deal. I could just be imagining it. I could just...yeah, it’s not a big deal.” _

“If she does it again, tell her off,” Missy said, leaning against her shopping cart and moving at a crawl to focus on their conversation. “Frame it as,  _ ‘Papi only calls me princess’ _ .”

_ “...But they’re engaged,” _ Ari murmured over the phone for Missy to hear and it made something choke in her throat.

Yeah, Missy knew. Her papa and Tina had been dating for a few years together. His kids had all grown up and her kids were heading out to college soon. They started dating, keeping all of their kids out of the relationship, which was all cool.

_ But now Tina was moving into the house and Ari still lived at home. _

Ari was still twenty, trying her best for all her part-time jobs to come through and for her resume to actually look good enough for other businesses to take her for full time. Even though she was technically an adult, she lived at home with Papa which was a perfectly fine situation.

_ Until Tina moved in. _

“So what?” Missy voiced what all her siblings had been thinking, “She can’t be a mother to us anymore.”

_ That was the crux of the situation. _

_ “I know,”  _ Ari said,  _ “But it’s nothing.” _

It’s not nothing.

_ It’s a something on a pile of other somethings. And one day the dam’s gonna break. _

“Still talking with Jordan and Anya about getting an apartment together?”

Missy had to change the subject to something more hopeful. Something less triggering than talks of mothers.

Ari latched onto the switch like a lifeline, going on about their plans, what her friends were doing, and all the drama that’s been happening. As she listened, Missy went about the grocery store getting the things she couldn’t buy from the weekend Farmer’s Market she frequented every week. In the past, she couldn’t indulge herself to being healthy. Now that she had the time and funds, it was all she ever wanted to do.

Talks of her friends swiftly turned to Ari sighing over her long distance girlfriend Parker. Missy indulged her sister, mostly because she enjoyed it most when her sister was happy and well loved by her friends and chosen partner. Ari took the teasing well, gushing about how cute her girlfriend was, what they’ve been up to, and what dates they’ve gone on long distance. Then Ari asked,

_ “Has anything new come up with Ryan?” _

Missy nearly fucking passed out.

Shock over the change of subject and at what subject at that, the rush of horror and rage that coursed through her veins at every remembered offense so far, and decimating grief hit like a juggernaut.  _ She felt sick all over. _

“He’s still missing,” Missy admitted over the phone, a little waver of her voice from the pain but still aware enough to keep talking. “Anna called me and told me what’s been happening. They’d taken everything to the police months ago and they were still investigating before Ryan split. Fact is, they think that was why he ran, probably got spooked and took off.

“Sabrina won’t talk.” She moved her shopping cart off to the side and rubbed her temples to hide the distress she couldn’t help feel, “But Anna doesn’t think she knows anything. Police aren’t telling them much about their investigation or how they planned to track Ryan down. Shit, Salim was just talking about hiring his own PI or bounty hunter. I don’t know how Hanks is doing though. Nobody’s telling me about him.”

_ “And...have others come forward?”  _ Ari’s voice was so soft, probably knowing how much this had effected Missy.

“Ten so far,” she said, her voice cracking, “They think it’s only ten. Weeks have gone by without another girl coming forward. Jonathan was saying that he may start spreading word to the girls in the University, see if anymore were victimized if we branch out from the local highschools, community colleges, and Nursing schools we’ve been going to. I don’t know. There maybe more. I hope to god, no.”

There was silence on the other line and Missy took the moment to breathe.

She couldn’t fucking have a breakdown in the supermarket. There’s no special coupons for people in a crisis.

_ “You haven’t called Hanks?” _

She let out a shaky breath saying over the phone, “I’ve tried but he hasn’t picked up. Jocelyn isn’t picking up either.”

_ “What do you think is wrong?” _

_ If Missy bashed her head in the supermarket, would the cleanup be easy? _

“Worst case scenario, he’s mad and blames me for not letting him murder the bastard when he had the chance,” Missy said, not believing in anything she said cause she was probably wrong, “Best case? He’s dealing with the legal authority and doesn’t want to talk to me until he has something solid. Jocelyn is shit at answering her phone anyways so I shouldn’t trust her to call me back anytime soon.”

_ Missy had a lethal case of thinking too much. _

Her curse. Her anxiety and paranoia teaming up with her to concoct awful scenarios that weren’t true. A long time ago she promised herself never to believe in anything unless it was deliberately spelled out for her, unwilling to torture herself with depressioning ‘what ifs’ that haunted her in the worst of times.

_ “I’m so sorry,”  _ Ari said over the line, her sister’s empathy bleeding with remorse.

Missy sucked it up, smiling even when unseen. “No it’s okay, he’ll probably call me back when he’s got something to tell me, no worries.”

The silence on the other end could stretch forever so Missy sought to break it fast. “We’ll be fine. It’s not like we haven’t gotten mad at each other and gone silent before.”

The memory of that time still aches like a bruise.

_ “Think they’ll catch him?” _ Ari said with an odd seriousness that bordered on something dark and primitive.

Missy had to pause and really, truly think.

Arianna worshipped love, kindness, and the goodness in the world. But she wasn’t blind to how dark or depressing it could get and Missy refused to sugar coat the truth.

“He’ll turn up again,” she said, looking left and right the shopping aisle to make sure no one would hear her, “Whether the police or Cy would find him, he’ll turn up again. He can’t run for long, his roots are sunk too deep to be uprooted so easily. If the police find him, he’ll be brought in. If my friends find him…

_ “He would have wasted his chance to run.” _

The call ended soon after, Missy having to finish up her shopping and Ari going off to join her girlfriend on a movie date.

Missy went through the motions of purchasing her items and packing away the groceries in her side bags on her bike, her face numb from expression but her heart and mind in turmoil.

_ When was it going to end? _

_ When was it going to end? _


	18. fuckin' break a mirror - 3

_ The guy came home Sunday at five. _

The sun had a good few hours to set.

_ His reaction was near pornographic. _

Corpse had been editing a new video of his that he wanted to publish, narrated stories of Tinder dates gone wrong, when something loud made him immediately take off his headphones.

Honestly, he had been watching, waiting for his downstairs neighbor to come back. It wasn’t Missy’s fault for not knowing he’d be out for a couple days, everything that was left for him stewing for all to see.

The complex manager hadn’t investigated because they kept far away from their workplace when they were clocked out, which left hanging used condoms, dog shit, and a cow tongue hanging about for the whole world to see. Corpse could swear that other people from around the complex, even just from passersby have come around to gawk and have a good laugh.

_ It felt good. They were all in on the joke. _

But their reaction wasn’t who he was hearing out for.

Finally, after a day and half of pure suspense. Corpse heard something that made him pull out his headphones in glee.

_ “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?!” _

Kids shrieked in laughter from downstairs. A small dog yapped along to the excitement. Corpse moved out of his room to go near the door for a closer listen. The guy was arguing with someone, just downstairs, probably seeing the cow tongue and string of used condoms hanging above his door like Christmas lights.

_ “What the fuck!” _ the whole building must have heard his shout,  _ “Who the fuck did this?!” _

Another peal of shrieked laughter. Corpse peeked out of his peephole, seeing nothing from downstairs just yet but catching sight of his adjacent neighbor,  _ Adam? _ , with his phone out and recording what was happening downstairs.

He could feel the door opening at his feet and he remembered exactly what Missy did to the handle.

_ Holy shit, please dude touch your face. Please, touch your face. Go to the bathroom, please, make my night so much better with your misery. _

_ “WHAT THE FUCK?!” _

The entire building howled with laughter.

Doors began to open from what Corpse could see, Adam actually stepping out to record, Nelson opening his door as well to watch the events unfold. He himself opened the door and poked his head out, seeing Missy’s door open up and she remained inside. The sound of children falling over themselves laughing grew louder as Maria probably opened her own door to witness it all.

_ The modern day stoning. Shaming of the village jackass.  _

Behind his mask, Corpse’s face was grinning like a loon, relishing in sick pleasure at seeing a fucking douchebag get what he deserved.

“WHO DID IT?!” the guy shouted from within the hall, “WHO DID ALL THIS?!”

Maria started cussing him out in rapid spanish, getting more and more angry but the guy blew her off with a, “Shut up you fat bitch, I wanna know who did this shit. I’ll fucking beat your ass you little shit!”

Adam was still laughing, recording the whole thing and the guy downstairs must have heard.

“WAS IT YOU? WAS IT FUCKING YOU?!”

_ The guy went to take the stairs up. _

He skipped up the stairs taking three at a time, hands outstretched to grab the railing but he stopped directly in the middle cause at the top of the stairs was Nelson standing there, big mountain of a man with a mean snarl in his face as if begging the guy to come on up, give him an excuse to push him down the stairs and crack his skull,  _ ‘It was a mistake Officer, the stairs were so narrow and I didn’t see him come up behind me, he ran into me and fell down, it was an accident!’ _

“Turn right back around,” he said with  _ soul _ in his chest, Sargent in his voice, “Go back to your pigsty, motherfucker.”

“WAS IT YOU?!” the guy began shrieking, probably even more enraged by the whole world turning against him. A king and his burning castle. A rooster before the slaughter. “DO YOU DO THIS?!”

The guy finally caught sight of Corpse and his mania turned  _ psychotic _ , “CORPSE YOU MOTHERFUCKING BITCH I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU YOU PIECE OF DIRTY WHITE SHIT YOU RACIST ASSHOLE I’LL KILL YOU I’VE GOT FRIENDS MOTHERFUCKER WE’LL FUCKING-”

**_“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”_ **

Nelson broke the endless rant with his shout, catching everyone by surprise when all of a sudden he started to bellow, “GET YER ASS OUT OF HERE YA PUSSY ASS MOTHERFUCKER! GO BACK HOME AND GO BACK TO FUCKING YOUR MOTHER! YOU DARE BOTHER ANY OF THE RESIDENTS HERE IN BUILDING 1400 I’LL BE DRAGGING YOUR ASS FOR AN ASS BEATING IN FRONT OF GOD AND ALL THE GOOD PEOPLE OF SAMPSON STREET MOTHERFUCKER!”

The jackass stumbled back, almost physically pushed by Nelson’s shouting. Nelson continued with his shout, “YOU SHOW YOUR FACE AGAIN IMMA-” while also marching forward. Corpse crept to the side of the stair to watch Nelson beat back their neighbor by just his words, until they all heard a door shut, and there was a cheer.

Adam cheering, Maria and her husband whistling and laughing. There were a few people from different buildings that were hootin’ an hollerin’ from the building doorway.

Corpse laughed along with everyone.

_ It was unusually cruel of them to delight in a man’s misery but there was no sympathy left for him to find mercy. _

Corpse turned away from the stair, catching sight of Missy who had a strange look on her face but he didn’t bother deciphering it. He was too happy. Serotonin shot through his veins like liquid sunshine and he wanted to _ bask. _

Sleep didn’t come easily to him that night, _ unsurprisingly,  _ but he had wanted to stay up for once. Perhaps the whole building was staying up, ears pricked and waiting.

_ There was one last revenge to be had and nobody could wait for it to be exacted. _

It was nasty, disgusting, barely acceptable as a first act of vengeance but nobody stopped Adam.

_ So they waited. _

_ He waited. _

_ An hour. _

_ Hour and a half. _

Finally, Corpse heard the downstairs shower being turned on, muffled through flooring, carpet, and walls but the rattle of his own shower pipes signaled exactly what the other guy was up to.

A moment of silence.

_ A childish scream of shock and terror ripped through the air with a- _

_ “WHAT THE FUCK?!” _

And Corpse fell back into bed, clutching at his stomach as he  _ laughed and laughed and laughed  _ until tears streamed down his eyes and he couldn’t breathe.

_ Oh to have captured that all on video. _

His neighbor’s bathroom must be covered in three day old pig blood.


	19. i was really fuckin' hopin' it'd be different this year - 5

For once Missy was out of her apartment.

Instead of taking her bike out on a ride, she opted to just sit on the old iron bench that was placed tilted on the ground underneath an old pine tree. Douglas Fir. Whatever. The bench was chained to the tree and half of it was covered in graffiti. Normally Missy wouldn’t go near the bench cause there’s always a possibility dog shit was near, or a homeless person pissed on the tree and could be smelt.

But today that didn’t matter.

_ She couldn’t smell anyways. _

Sometimes, her anxiety got so bad that it would take away her appetite, sense of taste and smell. Missy didn’t really consider those her  _ real bad  _ days, but they were particularly awful for reasons.

She couldn’t stay in her house, the monotone in life would suck her energy dry and leave her in bed unable to do anything for days. Taking a walk, going outside, shopping, those things broke up her focus on the bad just enough not to make it worse.

Missy’s energy was pretty shit, not wanting to go anywhere or do nothing, so she sat on a bench and zoned the fuck out cause her eyes kept wandering off the phone screen anyways and she couldn’t focus enough to knit a handkerchief.

_ To make it all worse, she felt nauseous enough to vomit. _

She heard the dog’s collar tag before she saw her neighbor.

_ Nelson. _

“Enjoying the sun?”

He didn’t look happy but when was he ever? Well, he was probably a week ago, watching everyone else pile up the ‘Fuck You’ message to sky high, but he didn’t seem the type to actually give a shit.

Missy offered a small smile, not wanting this relative neighbor know how dead she was on the inside.

“Nice day out. Couldn’t resist.”

Her smile became stained when she really noticed his expression. Tense, with half a sneer but with dark knowing eyes.

_ He looked like he had something to say. _

_ Suddenly, Missy didn’t want to hear it. _

“I saw you in the doorway,” he said, “What were you going to do?”

Nelson really kept things vague huh? But there was only one definitive moment just recently that he could only be referencing.

_ Her stomach twisted. _

Not smiling now, Missy turned away so as not to look at the other, remembering that night when their downstairs neighbor came up screaming in fury and spewing pure filth at Corpse and everyone around to see his fall from grace.

“I don’t know,” she  _ lied _ cause no way in hell was she gonna tell the truth. She didn’t know him and he didn’t know her. He didn’t have to know anything.

“I’ve seen that look before,” he said and with a gruffness to his voice that hadn’t been there before he said, “You need help.”

Vetrol came out of her before she could recognize how much she wanted to hurt him, “What’s your therapist’s name then? I’m sure they’re doing great by you.”

Missy looked at him now, her own face bland when Nelson’s turned into a fierce scowl, probably regretting ever trying to tell her what to do.  _ But fuck him. _ She’s barely functional but at least she wasn’t sleeping on top of a pile of his dog’s feces and piss.

_ She didn’t care what he was going through. Missy didn’t need nor want his advice or concern. _

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, quickly whistling for his wayward dog to follow him back, “What I get for reaching out.”

Nelson left and admittingly she did feel a smidge of guilt for lashing out an awkward hand in kindness but she was too busy trying not to fall apart.

The night, what he had seen, her standing in the doorway as their downstairs neighbor came up to raise hell, it must have been…

_ It could only be… _

He said he had seen the look before. It must have been whatever expression was on her face as she watched the Cuck begin to  _ screech _ at Corpse. Missy didn’t know what she looked like but it must have been horrible enough for Nelson to reach out.

_ She did know what she was thinking at that moment. _

_ It scared her shitless. _

_ It made her afraid. _

_ Afraid of herself. _

Missy knew there was something inside her, some horrible instinct that came out of her like a demon whispering in her ear.

But demons were an outside force. Whatever voice that came from within was all hers.

_ She was the horrible thing. _

In that moment standing in the doorway, before Nelson shouting, she had thought,

_ ‘There’s boiling water on the stove. Get it.’ _

A vicious thought. The cruel apathy that fell over her then didn’t make her realize how horrible she was for thinking it, for not immediately refuting it upon conception. She thought about how hot the water was, how her neighbor’s skin would immediately blister and cook. She wouldn’t have had enough water to soak him through but it would stop him. It was stop her neighbor from threatening anyone else.

_ She was more than willing to do it. _

Missy was already stepping back inside her door when Nelson broke in with a shout.

It jolted her out of apathy, that vicious cruelty that wouldn’t have blinked or regretted a single moment of pouring boiling hot water on top of a raving man.

_ She had been horrified at herself. _

_ ‘Where did that come from?’  _ she had asked,  _ ‘Why did it come from me?’ _

But she knew the answer.

Missy’s recent bout with anxiety came from a self-loathing so fierce it went down to her very DNA. She must have had the blood of Cain, or something wicked, because it came so naturally to her that it didn’t feel wrong in the moment. Only afterwards was she horrified.

_ ‘Why am I like this?’ _ she asked herself, _ ‘Why am I still like this?’ _

Missy sat still on the bench, gaze unfocused, fear gripping her heart tight in clenched teeth and revulsion clogging her throat to scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you're just a product of your upbringing.
> 
> As long as you recognize it, there's still a chance.
> 
> C'est la Vie


	20. glamorized desk job - 2

Corpse was having a good day, enough to start cleaning his house.

Truthfully, he kept his apartment pretty clean, unable to stand any clutter for long. It was actually a part of his everyday schedule to pick one area of his house and clean it, whether that be small jobs like taking the trash out or fully going in and deep clean everything with bleach and a toothbrush.

Today was a livingroom day, the clutter tucked underneath his TV and around his couch looking a little too chaotic. He hadn’t vacuumed in a minute, and the air was stuffy enough to warrant all of his windows to be pulled open to catch a breeze.

Before he could even start, he pulled out his crappy laptop he’s had since he was fifteen, pulling up YouTube and selecting his new favorite video to watch and listen to when he was happy.

The video began to play but he was already moving around the room, having watched the video several times before and knowing every shot taken but it was simply too good not to rewatch once again.

_ “‘Eyyo!” _ greeted Missy from behind the camera, another young woman jumping in to shout,  _ “Wassup!” _ before she fell out of camera and presumably tripped cause Missy started to cackle, camera now turning in hand to catch the unnamed young woman rise back to her feet before she struck another pose.

_ “Where are we?!” _ Missy had to shout over the surrounding noise.

_ “The Redondo Beach Kite Festival!” _ the other girl said, throwing her arms up to show off the expanse of beach, the blue-green waves, and the crowds of people dotting the sand staking claim with blankets and tents strewn about.

The ocean breeze pulled heavily on the waves, their hair, the hundreds of kites that danced in the sky and yet the girls didn’t seem cold. There was music in the background, loud and  _ a bop _ that Corpse now bobbed his head and cleaned barely holding back from groovin’.

_ “Break from my channel,” _ Missy said, turning the camera back to her to see her toothy smile,  _ “After this Imma post a video of Ari and I modeling the 2018 summer halter looks out on the beach but for now, enjoy the sights!” _

Missy and the now named Ari, gave an excited cheer before the video turned into a twenty minute montage of the 2018 Kite Festival of last year. Music dominated the video, a happy, preppy song that made the girl’s joy contagious and even more exciting.

There were clips of kites so big they had to be carried from vans by five men, ribbons dancing in the wind. There were a few swallow kites that zipped around by their puppeteer masters, kites with fifty feet of dragon tails. Mexican food vendors lined the streets of shopping carts with propane burners cooking over sheets of bent metal with a pool of sizzling hot sausage grease on one side and veggie kabobs on the other side. Children with their own tiny Batman and Dora the Explorer kites staring up at awe while their parents helped them catch the wind.

The music changed and focused next on the ocean itself, how the waves were big enough to tower above the heads of men standing in the surf, lines of children at the shores with their little boogie boards being pushed by the last tendrils of the crashing water. There was a clip of someone with a huge spool of cable for a kite in one hand, stepping further and further back until the man turned around and got a faceful of saltwater and toppled right on over. Scenes of a zoomed in view of both Missy and Ari running into the water without fear, diving into the waves before they could crash overhead, going so far into the ocean before turning and waving to the camera, their smiles blurry from the distance rendered.

Music changed once again and both Missy and Ari were dressed and out of the ocean, walking along the pier, both their faces and focus turned towards the horizon and the water below. There were clips of people lining one side of the pier, fishing poles in hand of the many hopefuls. The girls looked down at the waves as the gorgeous emerald green water still ran so clear as to be able to see the fish that glimmered like silver coins beneath the waves. They looked on, hands over their mouths, eyes bright and glittering as the camera then focused on what they were looking at, a group of sun kissed men turned bronze in the summer sun, standing on top of the pier walls before diving forty feet with a few flips for fun.

There was another clip of Missy and Ari sitting down at a stone table with another guy, laid before them was a literal feast of steamed crab, french fries, jambalaya, fried fish, and a raw urchin baring its buttery gold to the world.

“Say, ‘Omega-3’!” Missy teased. Ari, with a mouthful of jambalaya in her mouth and her hand already reaching to take a crab leg, struggled to do what Missy said, nearly spilling soda in her struggles and they all laughed, sharing the same toothy smile. The other guy with them obviously didn’t want to be anywhere on camera, turning his face and eyes away but still sitting with them.

_ “We had such a great time today, and I hope everyone out there watching this is taking advantage of the summer sun and having their own fun where they’re at! You don’t have to go to the beach. You don’t have to go kite flying. Just go out with your friends and enjoy life. C’est la vie!” _

_ “C’est la vie!” _ chorused both Ari and the unnamed guy, raising their drinks and crab legs to the screen before another clip came on to wind down the video.

Sea lions swimming between the legs of the pier. The summer sun two hours from setting, turning the ocean waves into frothing transparency. Missy, having fallen in the waves, standing back up soaking wet with sand dotting her face and she blinked wide eyed at the camera, the camera person laughing at her.

The clip turned to a phone camera clip of Ari passed out in the back of a car ride. The night having fallen, there was a view of Los Angeles street lights with towering skyscrapers. The last scene was on Missy, sunkissed with salt in her hair, teeth pearly white and gleaming in the semi-darkness. Her hand waved to her audience goodbye before the video ended, but Corpse put it on loop, wanting the music selection to play again.

The video had been uploaded last year, before Missy cut her hair as short as she had it now, before the tattoos that encompassed her shoulders. It wasn’t the only vlog style video that she’s posted online but it was one of the very few and probably his favorite.

_ Corpse...wasn’t a happy person. _

Him and happiness were barely on speaking terms, sometimes they sat down to share a glass of wine but it didn’t stay for long.

Missy’s beach video didn’t cure him, didn’t make him even more happy than usual. But...it was easy to smile with her. Easy to laugh at the funny clips, to feel the joy they must have felt making a day together, her and her friends. It was inspiring to see the beautiful, the awe inspiring, the crazy and wild that they shared together on that day and it made him happy that they were happy.

He didn’t know who Ari or that guy was to Missy but it was clear they were close and dear to her and it made him smile for the tenth time watching the opening clip where Ari was literally jumping around in excitement. They had fun, that was clear, and they shared so much of their happiness with the audience that Corpse couldn’t help himself feeling energetic, from wanting to dance with the music, from smiling and listening to their laughter.

_ No, his joy now wouldn’t last. _

But he could enjoy it while it lasted.

_ C’est la vie and all that shit. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UUUUUUMMMMMMMMM HELLO????
> 
> The responses I've gotten so far for this story, the people who have shared their love and support, ummmmmmmmm THANK YOU???
> 
> First and foremost I want to thank everyone who commented on this story and have extended concern and love to me as the author. You guys are awesome and its been such a surprise inspiring so much support.
> 
> Secondly, Imma be honest here, I've been having a bad few days here in the good ol' US of A and was feeling pretty shit (that's why I haven't been updating lately bleh) but having such wonderful, nice comments reminded me, "Oh yeah, I have a story to write and help me through this. Okay, let's go." And it's kickstarted my desire to hash out a bunch more chapters before I force myself to pause.
> 
> I've read every single comment sent to me and I promise to reply back! Don't think I'll keep you in silence for long, I don't want to keep quiet or absent on here.
> 
> But hey! I wanna ask you guys something. To all you Corpse fans who diligently listening to his streams, has he given any recommendation for artists/songs to listen to? I'm kinda limited to brakence and Bohnes and wanna know more about our eboy jackass (i say this with as much love and affection as possible don't hurt me).
> 
> Thank you all so much! Love you all, and I'll be posting new chapters over the next few days.
> 
> Take care! Covid is still hunting us down and please hang strong Americans, we're going though a tough time together.


	21. glamorized desk job - 3

Missy laid in her bed cocooned in her blankets, headphones in and blasting Corpse Husband’s last livestream video of him talking to his chat.

Her ribs shuddered, a shiver racking her hard and she curled up more and pressed herself hard against the heater at her back.

_ Fuck fuck fuck. _

_ Bad day. _

Admittingly they were rare. Days where the anxiety gripped her tight and made her want to scream and cry but her throat closed up to leave her in silence. They hit out of fucking nowhere, but this time she accidentally triggered it, and she berated herself for being _ so stupid. _

She didn’t need to read that news report. She knew it was something bad, something that awful white man had done, and Missy knew it was probably gonna trip her up but she’d been having a good few days, she thought she could take it.

_...she wasn’t unmoved by the reports of “Sanctuary Cities”. _

_ Fuck fuck fuck  _ just thinking about it made her sick, made her want to cry, her bleeding heart twisting inside her chest, teeth chattering to hold back what must be blood in her mouth cause all she could taste was iron.

It sucked. It all sucked.  _ God-fucking-damn it all, _ when was the misery gonna end? When was the pain ever gonna stop? All these constant news stories of people who don’t care not pulling punches,  _ again and again and again  _ it was all poison in her veins and she was so tired. So emotionally exhausted about caring so much about the people who have been kicked down and couldn’t stand up.

So tired of Black people dying.

So tired of ICE stealing into the homes of her people.

So tired of people crying out and finding no help from above.

_ She was so tired of listening to the world screaming in agony. _

_ “If I could play any it would be piano,” _ she heard over her headphones and she forced herself to breathe,  _ “I love pianel. Peano. Piano.” _

Corpse Husband’s voice, it...god how could she explain it?

She never saw the point of ASMR. Her sister swears by it but she never understood how particular sounds people could find pleasure in. It wasn’t how her brain was wired. But his voice…

The only thing she could compare his voice to was listening to the deep purr of a cheetah. She wished she could compare it to another big cat, but cheetah’s were the biggest cat that could purr and whenever this YouTuber spoke, his words had a certain rumble in his throat, his chest that she could almost feel within her own.

It reminded her of her own cat so many years ago, laying on her chest and purring like a motor. And like a conditioned response to hearing that “purr” she calmed immediately down, breathing in deep and slow as not to “disturb the cat” and relaxing even when her hands still shivered and her voice still remained missing.

_ “I’ve been drunk as fuck at a Dave & Busters with Mooji before.” _

He softly chuckled as Missy pressed her spine further into bulk at her back.

_ “I won’t give you anymore context.” _

Zach was sometimes there when she got this bad and the fastest way she knew how to calm the fuck down was to cuddle up to his legs cause he was usually sitting up doing shit but he was gone now so she needed a replacement. She had heated up some bags of dry rice, put some pillows against the wall and leaned up on her side against it, giving her a false sense of someone being there, of offering comfort.

_ “Tim Nash, ‘You’re videos have helped me out of my anxiety and depression it really taken a toll on me but you’ve helped so much thanks for helping me through a tough time-” _

She’ll probably hate herself afterwards, being so pathetic as to need false stimulation of someone being there but in the moment, she could have done anything to make herself feel better.

_ “Thank you, Abby, glad to have helped you.” _

As if Missy didn’t feel shitty enough, self-loathing had come in like a bad bitch fucking up her confidence in the backalley of a seven-eleven. Bitterness bled through her bones and this time there was no one she hated more than herself.

_ “Mr. Cod, ‘First time doing a superchat, love you and I’m so happy you’re back.’” _

She hated how much she wanted to believe in good things. Good people. How much she had to  _ willfully _ cling to that belief because it wasn’t natural to her. She wasn’t someone born to believe in good things but she was trying alright? She was trying her best because someone once taught her that the bad always outweighs the good, ‘ _ that’s why hell is bigger than heaven,’ _ but Missy refused to believe that. She couldn’t. If she didn’t believe in compassion, kindness, love...then where would that leave her? How cruel would she be? How much pain would she deal unto others?

If every awful thing in the world was waiting just outside her door then what was the point of living?

_ What was the point of living? _

_ “-like for the people who just want to sleep to something, I feel like I can leave this up for them.” _

Missy didn’t have an answer yet but she could still try.

She could still try.

_ “This is all a dream.” _

All she had to do was keep breathing.


	22. no quiero estar aquí - 5

_ There was someone in his attic. _

Corpse laid awake at one o’clock in the morning, eyes wide and ears straining to listen to the soft thumping of feet in the attic above.

A burglar? Fucking shit how the hell did they get up there? Was it even a person or an animal? He hadn’t even known the attic was somehow an access point,  _ what the fuck? _

The footfalls were brief, quiet, and a bit more deliberate than what he would guess an animal wandering above him would make. They weren’t directly above him but he could hear them best from his room in the back of the apartment. Sitting up from his bed, he listened even more.

It...almost sounded like someone was pacing? No, it sounded like someone was looking around. The footfalls went from across his apartment to the otherside where he was sure was Missy’s area.

Wait, were they looking for Corpse’ and Missy’s attic access? Did they have a target in mind? Fuck! Was Missy even awake? Should he call the cops?

The footsteps came back around and he stood up from his bed to follow the sound, going into his short hallway to peek into his bathroom where he heard the footsteps stop. There was a dull thump and a grinding sound before...it might have been his imagination but the roof was creaking a bit. It might have been the burglar shifting weight, were they going up on the roof?

Corpse needed to check it out before either calling the police or calling his doctor.  _ ‘Hey Doc you know that new medication I’ve been taking for the last two months, yeah do the list of symptoms include hallucinations?’ _

His attic access was in his closet. He first got a kitchen chair and the heavy duty flashlight before reaching up, popping the attic access cover, pushing it to the side before having a quick three-sixty look around.

Thank god he thought to put on his medical mask before attempting to come up here cause the air was thick with stagnation and dust. Cobwebs hung in spooky grey wisps, their spiders long dead from nothing living up in the attic. There was the padding that made him want to call someone for an asbestos check, the complex was probably old enough to have already poisoned him if it were true.

No one was up there. But taking another look around, this time towards where he could reasonably guess where his bathroom was, he checked the actual roof and was surprised to see that there was an actual roof access point there.

And it was open.

_ Shit!  _ That means someone had been up in the attic. He wasn’t hallucinating and what if it was actually a test? The burglars coming to actually check they actually had access before actually acting? Fuck, what if they were still up on the roof? He hadn’t heard anything so far, but he kept sure to stay still and quiet for a second to wait and listen.

Nothing. He couldn’t hear anything on the roof other than the very distant sounds of cars driving by on the street.

Corpse tested the entrance point between his closet and the attic, finding it perfectly safe to hoist his entire body weight up to duck under the attic overhang. He tried not to breathe in too much as he tucked his feet underneath him, slowly standing still hunched over and quietly making his way to the roof access.

He was tempted to shout, possibly scare off the burglars if they were still around but he did not want to deal with being kicked in the head. Going for stealth, he poked his head out until his eyes were free to roam around, trying to spot someone, maybe a couple of people, preparing a burglary or even no one around but-

There was someone there.

_ There was someone on the roof! _

It wasn’t a burglar, it obviously wasn’t someone shady because whoever was sitting tucked into the shadow of the pine tree that grew close to their building, they were wrapped up in a cocoon of a blanket.

_ There was nothing shady about someone wrapped up in a thick, blue comforter with pink, yellow, orange five-petal flowers on its print. _

It clicked in his head then, what he should have guessed earlier on when he made the discovery that people could access the attic and roof.

Missy.

His neighbor, the one of suspicious knowledge and moral leanings if she could easily break into someone’s house and attempt to cause a poison ivy rash on their shitty neighbor. It wasn’t a hard guess to assume that Missy got onto the roof herself, dragging her blanket with her for a little star gazing or whatever.

Well shit, now he was curious.

He’d never been on the roof of his apartment before; yes a few abandoned buildings, his childhood home, his friend’s house at a party that one time but he hasn’t yet gone onto the rooftop yet.

Sticking his flashlight into his pocket, bracing his palms against the lip of the access point, he had to jump to actually catch his weight and get out of the attic. Standing up to his full height, he noted the surrounding area, just how clustered the houses were and the few backyards he could see. It was still one in the morning so the entire neighborhood was asleep and silent, a good three blocks away was the busy street that passed a car by the shine of their headlights.

It...wasn’t a particularly good view but the air was crisp and the silence had to be treasured, it wasn’t often when the whole world seemed to sleep.

_ Except for them apparently. _

Why was Missy even up on the roof, and wrapped in a comforter as well, was this another habit of hers like leaving her apartment in the mornings or what?

_ Should...should he even ask? _ Should he even announce himself and tell her that he followed her up here only cause he thought someone was gonna rob his place? Corpse so wanted to just leave, back slowly away and never bring it up again. Maybe she didn’t even want an audience. What if she didn’t want people intruding whatever the hell she was doing?

_ But something was wrong. _

Corpse couldn’t...he couldn’t explain it. He looked at Missy, sitting alone bundled up against the early spring air, and maybe it was some fucked up recognition he saw like looking through the warped reflection of a broken side car mirror or maybe it was his long dormant sense of empathy that always seemed to want to kill him out of a bleeding heart, but something moved him stand as still as possible and watch.

Missy wasn’t completely still, her back turned towards him, her head sort of bobbed up and down, locks of her short hair mussed, the shadows of fingers running through them barely seen but  _ Jesus-fucking-Christ she just kept at it. _ She swept her fingers through her hair back before drawing it all forward again, almost in a rocking motion, but fuck was it stressing him out just watching her.

_ It was stress. _

Missy was stressed out and probably came up on the roof for fresh air and unseen eyes but fucking shit, it was one step away from pulling her hair out.

For a guy so loved for his voice, Corpse didn’t know what to say.

“Hey,” he called out gently, “You okay?”

_ Stupid question, stupid, stupid, stupid question, _ it made her flinch and turn her head towards him but she didn’t answer. Her fingers were still in her hair and he decided to fuck it, stepping slowly closer. “Heard someone up on the roof. Thought it was a burglar but..you need help?”

He got close enough to actually see that she was breathing to heavily, crouching down and  _ shit fuck damn it _ was she in a fucking panic attack he didn’t know how to handle other people’s panic _ fuck. _

Corpse needed to google this shit,  _ ‘panic attack help?’ _ cause what the fuck was he suppose to do when it was another people falling to pieces?

“Are you having a panic attack?”

Missy shook her head no, her breathing still heavy as if she ran a full marathon and she kept running her fingers through her hair. When she spoke, her voice sounded croaky as she said, “Anxiety.”

_ Well shit okay, not panic so its marginally better but still shit cause what the fuck is he suppose to do? _

“Do you want me to call someone or…?”

Her eyes squeezed shut and he could see her jaw tighten almost painfully, her head ducking down between her knees as she sucked in a few breaths.

“Okay, okay  _ -shit- _ how can I help? Do you need anything? Want some space? A blanket or-”

“Just-” fucking hell she sounded like her teeth were trying to bite back her words, gritted out and forced, “-talk to me?”

_...fuck. _

_ Fuck. _

_ Fuck! _

His voice! Missy had listened to his shit before and what did she say about it? That she went to sleep? Did she recognize it somehow? Did she subconsciously recognise it? Fucking hell, what does he even talk about?

“I...don’t-” he tried to say cause he was hella fucking uncomfortable talking outloud unprompted and what if she recognised him and wanted spooky stories or some shit?

“Bitch at me,” she said, her hands running through her hair again, giving her buzzed sides a hard scratch, “Start bitching about something. Anything. Your ex-best friend. Shitty neighbor. Old teacher. The Karen in the grocery story. Anything.”

_...huh. _

So, Missy wanted him to do what she did.  _ ‘Stitch & Bitch’ _ or whatever, without the stitching. He could do that. Corpse got comfortable sitting beside her, finding that if he didn’t actually focus on her it was easier to talk.

He didn’t share anything super personal. Just the story of one of his friend’s from highschool and their ex-girlfriend and what went down. The cheating, stolen money, the violence and bruises caused by her hands and how he internet stalked the shit out of her before ruining her entire life, calling her job, her side pieces, her family and friends, her weed dealer. It was one of the pettiest stories in his arsenal to share and he knew Missy was listening cause she would laugh quietly by exhaling through her nose in a sort of chuff.

Her nails stopped scratching her scalp, fingers slowly smoothing out her dyed magenta hair until they just rested at her neck and stayed there. Her breathing slowed down considerably before hitching up again, probably fighting off the last few symptoms of her anxiety attack.

He kept talking, sharing about how in grade school he and his friends found an old abandoned car on the side of the road, how they learned how to hotwire the thing and they drove screaming down the street (probably a fifteen miles an hour but he didn’t say that,  _ it was his story damn it) _ until the engine started smoking up and nearly caught on fire.

By the time he was finished with his second story (less about bitching, but it was a funny memory that didn’t fail to make her laugh) she was looking up again and by her side profile he could see a small smile.

“One year in highschool,” she shared with him, “I punched three different dude’s in the face.”

She told him in return the story of how she  _ -”it was reflex!”-  _ bloodied Rudy’s nose, punched a football/basketball player in the jaw by that same ‘reflex’, and punched Eddie proper when he looked down her shirt and decided to make a smart comment about her chest. How she became best friends with Hanks despite her punching him in the face out of defensive reflex, and how they laughed about it now.

The more she spoke, the less soft and croaky her voice seemed to grow back to its normal cadence. Missy was wide awake despite the late hour, talking in clear sentences and her focus locked on the horizon, none of the listlessness he had seen before when she was just sleepy.

She shared with him the story of her first job, and how she gained the rank of floor supervisor after an entire summer of training the seasonal employees and no one noticed until much later. There was one story about her dad and his old boss who had fired him for reasons “costing too much” when a lawsuit came and the company had to offer lawyers to prove his innocence, how they soaked the carpet of the office with durian juice and poured bottles in the air vents.

They traded short stories back and forth: the mundane, inane, sometimes small petty things that they’ve lived through without going too deep.

It was fun for Corpse, retelling a memory only to watch a fresh new reaction to his tale and it was invigorating to hear some of the unbelievable stories that could only be lived through.

They stayed up till four in the morning, when her voice started to go hoarse and the silence stretched longer and longer. Missy looked better, more relaxed. Her short hair frazzled from her fingers messing it up so much in the beginning, the blanket around her shoulders not so drawn up.

“Need some sleep soon?” he asked cause normal people need sleep, right?

She nodded her head with a hum, smiling ever so softly while moving to stand, “Yeah, think I’m ready. Few more hours of shut eye before dawn.”

Corpse followed her example by rising to his own feet, amused when he saw her huddle back up in her blanket as if she really were cold.

“Feeling better?” he asked just to check. They talked a lot and even if she seemed to be doing alright in comparison to how he first saw her, it didn’t hurt to ask.

“Much,” she said, stepping up to the roof access, “Thank you for staying around and talking with me. Didn’t mean to keep you awake.”

“Wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon,” he confessed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Missy’s face twisted up weirdly, like she was biting back concern while being unsure whether to actually voice it or not.

“I logically know that you probably have a sleeping schedule that you’ve already taken care of,” she said, speaking carefully now, “But please take care of yourself? Get some sleep?”

Corpse couldn’t help but sigh, “You don’t think I haven’t tried?”

The look she gave him now was searching, the change of expression so quick and he remembered the last few times he’s seen it before.

He never voiced to her his insomnia or sleep apnea. He wasn’t angry at her for not knowing, but he was just annoyed in general. _ Here was another person presuming that his ability to sleep was something in his control. _

But she was smart. Missy was so goddamn smart, it always startled him at times how fast she could pick up whatever tell she could hear or read off him and could turn on the dime.

She gave a casual shrug, “If your best is to try then you tried your best.”

Corpse didn’t know what the hell she was thinking. Giving a guess felt more like a futile attempt at understanding the will of God.

“You get that out a fortune cookie?”

Missy tossed a smile at him, bundling up the blanket from off her shoulders to drop it on the roof. “Yoda actually.”

_ “Yoda did not fucking say that.” _

She laughed, not giving a response and jumped into the roof access, grabbing her blanket before making room for him. Corpse jumped in himself to see Missy crouching over the uncovered hole to her own apartment, looking up at him with an expression much more open and softer than what he was expecting.

“Thank you,” she said gratefully, before tilting her head, “Is there anything you want to eat or-”

“No,” he said, reaching up to pull the roof cover back onto the roof access, “Don’t you fucking dare. You’ve cooked for me enough.”

_ She had the audacity to roll her eyes. _

“I cooked you a dessert and bowl of food, that’s hardly ‘enough’,” she said.

“I’m not gonna accept food for this,” he said and her expression shifted. Maybe she needed the reminder. Maybe she needed to know that getting help in a time of need wasn’t a sort of situation to stick an IOU on.

“Okay,” she easily accepted, “Talk to you later, Corpse?”

He almost had a fucking heart attack right then and there, silently nodding his head like that was an acceptable form of answer and waching with wide eyes as she dropped back into her own apartment and pulled her attic cover over her access point.

His eyes stung from the still coiling dust.

The world laid dead asleep.

Corpse thought about the entire night and her parting words and…

_ Oh fuck did they become friends? _


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this update, I kept trying to write this chapter and I had to rewrite it four times before I was happy with how events took place.
> 
> Enjoy the update and the next few chapters should be coming out soon

_ “Are you friends?” _ Zach asked from Missy’s phone.

She...actually had to stop and think about it.

Missy had managed to get a hold of her brother for a longer conversation than their texts and short voice messages. Talking to him was a comfort and relief, both of them sharing what had been going on with their lives the past few months they’d been separated.

“No,” she came to the conclusion, “We aren’t. Friendly acquaintances at best but he hasn’t even fed me yet.”

Her brother made a distant humming sound in agreement, knowing exactly what Missy was talking about.

She and him were ‘Catholic twins’. Born separately but so near the same age range that there was barely any separation between them in terms of maturity and growth. Sure, there were alot of mental and emotional differences, with her being the eldest sister and him being the only son, but in terms of their siblingship, it was often remarked upon that they could have been actual twins.

Zach was her first and best friend. He knew her like an extension of himself. Of course he would know exactly what she was referencing.

_ “And you gave him food already?” _

“Yeah,” she sighed and with one hand she started taking out ingredients for Top-Ramen for lunch, “Banana bread and soba. The dude’s got food issues but thankfully I didn’t accidentally kill him.”

_ “No but you did break into someone’s house cause he asked.” _

“The jackass deserved it!”

_ “What’re you gonna do with the mom’s phone number?” _ he asked just as Missy stuck her bowl of water and dried noodles into the microwave for a spin.

“Dunno,” she admitted, leaning back against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed, “I don’t have it. I think Corpse is gonna keep it as some sort of insurance. If the Cuck comes back with problems, he has something to really fuck up his day.”

_ “‘Corpse’,” _ her brother scoffed on the other end,  _ “Edgy much?” _

“Po- _ ta _ -to, po- _ tah _ -to,” Missy couldn’t help but tease, “Don’t worry, I still think you’re the edgiest edge-lord on the West Coast. Bar none.”

_ “‘Ey,” _ Zach snapped back without any heat then asked to switch topics,  _ “You ready for next month?” _

“I will be ready,” Missy said, taking out her Top-Ramen and vicisciously stabbing the noodles further down into the makeshift broth, “I’ll be in LA during the parade and I’m still gathering outfits to fit my colors. What about you? You ready?”

_ “No.” _ She could still hear the frown on his face a couple hundred miles away.  _ “Ari’s tryna help make a gay rainbow not look stupid by I draw the line at going to the fucking mall.” _

Zach was punk in the way of moshpits and nazi-headhunting. He came home with more busted lips from fist fights than kisses, knuckles scarred and scabbed worse than his knees, and all of his clothes were stained with at least one drop of blood. Rainbows really weren’t his thing but no fuckin’ way in hell would he ever be caught dead at a Pride Parade being mistaken for  _ Straight. _

_ Neither would Missy for that matter. _

“Do you at least have a pin?”

_ “A fuckin’ Het could wear a pin,” _ her brother spat on the other end,  _ “Would you go with just a pin?” _

No she wouldn’t.

He didn’t have to explain himself cause she already knew exactly what he was talking about. He was her confidante and she would always be his best friend.

“We still got time,” she said, “It’s late April, you got a month to get ready.”

_ “Can’t you make me something?”  _ No matter how much they loved each other he was still a piece of shit.

“June,” Missy said, “You want me to knit you something to wear in June.”

_ “Oh yeah it’d get pretty hot, huh?” _ No shit.

“Have Ari paint some fabric for you,” Missy suggested, “A big patch for you to pin over your patch jacket. Something in your style, a skull with rainbow paint dripping down? How about a brick with rainbow blood with  _ something-something _ Stonewall?”

_ “Might just do that,” _ he conceded, actually sounded interested but it was always a toss-up on whether he would actually do it or not.  _ “And what about you? Green and purple don’t match.” _

Missy gave an exaggerated groan, complaining, “I know. It’s awful. I can’t be subtle at all, I gotta be in-your-face blunt with my colors.”

_ “At least you got lesbian down.”  _ He was definitely laughing at her, _ “No way would anyone think you’re completely Straight.” _

“But I’m not a lesbian,” Missy said, “Unfortunately. Or I would have had better colors. Also, how else am I supposed to look like? There’s no tell-tale wardrobe aesthetic for AroAce unless you count the black ring. Plus, I’m kinda nervous about actually going to Pride with my colors and random people coming up to talk to me about it.”

_ “Don’t be,” _ Zach said firmly. He wasn’t one to encourage or reassurance. He was the type to demand fate to bend to his will.  _ “That’s not gonna happen.” _

“You sure? Not even a, ‘What are you?’”

_ “You’re thinking too much,”  _ he said and if he were there beside her, he might have wacked her on the head,  _ “Stop it.” _

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Missy replied just to repeat the old choreography their siblingship developed.

_ “Hold on,” _ he said on the other line and she dutifully went silent as he did whatever he needed to do on the other end of the phone,  _ “Miss, I need ten-fifteen minutes for a bit.” _

“Gonna hang up or put on hold?” she asked, already looking around for things to do as she would wait in silence.

_ “Hang up cause I need both hands for this.” _

“Aight,” she said already taking her phone away from her ear to hang up first, “Talk to you in a bit.”

Missy didn’t care to ask what specifically he was doing. Growing up, they were nearly joined to the hip but as they got older, they soon learned that plotting each other’s demise was a much more consecutive way of expressing their love and affection. Besides, she was hungry and she didn’t even take a bite of her lunch yet.

Finally putting her phone down after about an hour on call, picking up her bowl to eat with gusto, she really wasn’t expecting the knock at her door.

_ One. Two. Three. _

Short. Concise. Fucking rude type of knocking that Missy could only imagine soulsucking loan sharks and IRS tax collectors would practice.

_ Plus, she was in the middle of eating so that sucked even worse. _

Getting up anyways, she made it to the door before whoever was on the other side decided to knock once again.

_ One. Two. Three. Four. _

Already, whoever was at her door was on her shitlist for the reason of being an asshole. Whoever knocks so impersonally? Sociopaths, that’s who. Because she wasn’t an idiot, she checked out of her peephole first and-

_ A shiver ran down her spine. _

It was...the neighbor. The downstairs neighbor, the cuck, piece of trash, she could tell cause he always wore red pants and a jacket with some logo on the back. His back was turned towards the peephole and by the slow turn of his body, she could guess he was looking around to check if anybody else might be around.

_ But he knocked on her door. _

Missy backed up, taking care to keep her footsteps quiet, thinking back to remember if she approached the door stomping her feet or quietly.

_ One. Two. Three- _ went the knock and this time she heard him on the other side of the door say,  _ “‘scuse me, answer the door I know you in there.” _

No, no, no fuck you.

_ He targeted her. _

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that she lives alone and is a homebody. It was in the middle of the day so people were either out working or unaccounted for. He knocked on her door specifically. Why? He had beef with Corpse not her but...he did think they were connected. Did he really think they were a couple? What the hell was he doing outside her apartment knocking?

_ “‘Ey come on girl open up I wanna talk to ya.” _

_ No. No. No. Fuck you, _ the door lock’s been changed so he couldn’t get in and the little bitch wouldn’t know how else to break into her apartment like she would so he was stuck outside but  _ FUCK _ would he start kicking the door? Would he start punching the walls? Shouting? What the fuck did he want?

_ Bang! Bang! Bang! _

_ “I said open up I just need to talk!” _

_ No. You don’t get to talk to me you ugly ass bitch, _ ain’t no fucking way was Missy opening up her door or letting this short dick man start anything. Fuck, was Nelson around? There was no way for her to contact him if he wasn’t. He was the one who had a gun, who threatened this little bitch to stay in his place but now-

_ What was she going to do? _

_ “I know you’re in there! Open the door! I know you hear me you little bitch!” _

He was slamming on the door and it sounded like the wall was shaking.

_ Missy couldn’t hear the dog barking. _

Was Nelson not in? Was he out walking his dog? Oh shit, did this motherfucker know Nelson’s schedule and waited till he was gone to go knocking on her door?

Again, she was alone in her apartment. She had no friends or family to call. She... _ god, _ Missy was cursing herself for not thinking about getting some new type of weaponry, something that would help in enclosed spaces. Even if she had a bat or a knife, the moment she opened the door, he could storm her apartment and thwart all of her plans. She couldn’t have that. But she couldn’t...she was alone.

_ She was alone. _

Wait a minute.

_ Corpse. _

He...he was a homebody like her, he was most likely home and this was his problem. Was he home? Did he hear what was going on?

_ “Open up you piece of fuck! You’re the one who did this! I’ll fucking kill you bitch! I’ll fucking beat your ass and your boyfriend you fucking hoe!” _

_ Shit shit shit! He was slamming the door so hard the window glass was rattling. _

Missy nearly ran to the backroom, hopping up on her bed, pressing her ear against the wall to see if she could hear anything on the other side.

_ “I’ll fuck you up! I’ll fuck you up you fucking slut! I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” _

Now in the backroom the loud banging was distant sounding and the shouting covered anything she could hear on the other side of the wall. The shaking she could feel through her feet when in the living room was nonexistent, if Corpse was also in his room, he might not even feel or be aware that the yelling was in their building.

When the guy outside started banging on her door again after shouting, Missy rapidly hit the wall separating them with the heel of her palm, hard enough for the echo and trembling to make the paintings on her wall shake.

She stopped when the guy outside stopped to start yelling again, grimacing at the foul curses and threats made to herself. When he started banging on her door again, she also started hitting her wall, hoping that Corpse was there and could help.

_ “Yeah? What’s going on?” _

Missy almost laughed in astonished relief, hearing Corpse’s voice on the other side of the wall, kinda muffled but it wasn’t a struggle to listen in.

“The downstairs neighbor is at my door,” she said, pausing when he started banging again and then yelling.  _ “He’s at my door.” _

It might have been her imagination but she might have heard him curse,  _ “Shit,” _ on the other side before she fell silent.

She didn’t hear anything else from Corpse’s side, focusing on her front door when the banging started to change. Was he...was he punching her door?

_ “Imma fuck! Your slutty ass up! You fucking bitch! I’ll kill you! You think that was funny?! You think pissing me off was funny?! I’ve already called my friends bitch, you’re done! You ruined my fucking life bitch! I’ll fuck you and your boyfriend up don’t even try me fucking skank!” _

The opening of another door rang loud and clear, stopping the guy from his assault against her door.

_ Corpse was there. _

Getting off her bed now, she moved to her dining room table where her phone was at, cursing herself cause she didn’t think to start recording on her phone immediately. She moved to the door to peek through the peephole, leaning her now video recording phone against the wall to listen in on the conversation, knowing that her camera would do shit with her telescopic, dusty view of what was going on in the corridor.

_ “-ain’t fuckin’ shit now go fuckin’ back downstairs where you belong or I will call the cops,” _ she heard on th otherside and she hoped beyond all hope that her phone was picking it up.

_ “You fucking piece of trash bitch, you ain’t ever gonna get rid of me motherfucker this is my entire neighborhood its mine! And you can get your ass down here to clean up all this shit you and your girlfriend done!” _

Corpse said something, a sting of numbers, and it confused Missy so hard that this seemed to be his reply.

_ “What the fuck was that?” _

He repeated the numbers slower before saying, _ “That’s your mother’s phone number.” _

Silence. Her heart hammering in her chest.

_ “How the fuck did you get-”  _ the neighbor actually sounded frightfully angry, the type of anger that only comes out when their mother’s were threatened or insulted.

_ “Get your ass out of here, bitch. I’ll call your mom only after I call the cops. I live upstairs from you motherfucker, you think I don’t know what you do? I’ll tell her everything.” _

Their neighbor said something that she couldn’t hear but she did hear Corpse when he said, _ “I don’t fucking care, call ‘em. See what the fuck happens. Go back downstairs and stay away from us.” _

Peeking out of her peephole, Missy couldn’t see much the entire confrontation but she did catch sight of the motherfucking Cuck make his way downstairs slowly, turning his head around to curse Corpse out like he was a big man and not going away with his tail between his legs because his mother was brought into the conversation.

The more he fell out of view the more something inside her unclenched. She sighed with relief, swiftly breathing heavily now that she noticed that she had stopped breathing even since she started recording. She stopped recording by her phone, sitting back down at her dining room table, bowl of Top-Ramen left cold and soggy.

Her hands were shaking and her skin felt cold, fear and adrenaline still rushing through her system and finding no way out other than to blink and breathe.

_ That was...that was fucking terrifying. _

She was alone in her house when that happened. There was no backup, no one for who she could call on.  _ Holy shit, that could have turned out so bad and fuck! _

She heard a soft knock.

Not at the front door. It was soft and...in her backroom? Was Corpse trying to talk to her?

Missy went to her backroom, clambering up on her bed and yep, there was a soft and polite knocking against the wall.

She gave a quick knock of her own before saying, “I’m here. Thank you, I’m here.”

_ “Did you record that?” _ Corpse asked from beyond the wall.

“Yeah I did,” she confirmed, looking down at the phone still in her hand, “I’ll have to play it back to see if it captured enough but I recorded it.”

_ “Want me to call the police?” _

...the police? Missy was stumped and stupefied. _ The police? _ Calling law enforcement? She didn’t even think to do that. She was bewildered that it was even an option. She...oh wow, she could have called the police?

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully, still reeling from events and unsure what to do. All she wanted to do was tuck herself into bed and near leave for the next several years, perhaps then she could feel safe in her own neighborhood once again.

_ “Keep it on your phone,”  _ she heard Corpse say on the other side,  _ “Load it to Dropbox, OneDrive, Cloud, something. Just keep it in case he does something again.” _

She was still shaking. “Thank you for being there.”

There was...a short silence.

_ “Don’t worry,” _ he said and did he sound even more distant? Maybe.  _ “I’ll be here.” _

Missy was shaking, her nerves were so bad she couldn’t stand it.

She had to move, had to go. If she felt safe walking out of her house she would have but she couldn’t cause there was this fucking crazy pussy gangster bitch. She got up from her bed, left to her living room to pace, wringing her hands out to fend off the shakes, gasping for breath to make her ribs stop quivering.

_ God-fucking-damn it, _ she started running her fingers through her hair, scratching her nails against the grain of her buzz, tugging at the longer strands on top and walking around her apartment, going batshit insane cause she had never been along before when a threat came to her door and she was...she was…

_ But Corpse was there. _

_ He helped. _

_ He...oh, he helped her. He was there and he helped. _

Her phone began to vibrate in her hand and with a quick check to caller ID she answered with a, “‘ey Zach.”

Fucking hell, she sounded so scared. Her voice was so tiny at the back of her throat, shivering like a ghost in a blizzard.

_ “What happened?” _ her brother immediately demanded, sensing that something was wrong just by her voice.

She was so alone in her apartment away from her family and friends who could help. She felt homesick suddenly, wanting the security of knowing that if she called her friends would come running, if she got scared her family was her rock and support.

_ But she was so alone. _

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she said before telling her brother everything that went down.

It was a long day.


	24. Chapter 24

Corpse went to the gym often but only on nights he couldn’t sleep. Which was pretty often.

He usually went at four in the morning cause that was when all the work he’d set up for himself the previous day was closing in or finished. Three-four o’clock was the worst time of day to actually think, inspiration for his creativity running bone dry in those early hours and when he couldn’t sleep.

_ Well he couldn’t sleep. _

He  _ couldn’t _ sleep. Try as he might, wish on as many shooting stars as he could,  _ fucking _ jerk off the genie he could not sleep when his fucked up brain didn’t want to. It was a futile attempt at controlling what was already out of his control and it _ sucked. _

Going to the local twenty-four/seven gym became his reprieve, occupied his time while also draining any excess energy. He liked keeping himself in shape, being physically healthy and attainable when there’s so much he couldn’t help or even try to fix.

That was why he’d been out earlier in the morning.

And that was why he was able to see Missy already leaving her apartment, and why he got to witness something shocking.

_ Oh. _

Missy always came off...androgynous or at least butch.  _ Masc-lesbian? _ Was that the term? Anyways, she always wore layers, shitty tropical print shirts or rock band merch with hoodie and jackets overtop, ass-kicking boots, short hair with buzzed sides usually brushed back with gel. There was a reason why he first thought  _ she  _ was a  _ he _ upon first meeting. Sure, there were rare moments where she’d wear something totally feminine (usually when she modeled a summer halter top in her past videos) but Corpse himself had never seen Missy in anything less than three layers, pants, and at least socks.

It was six in the morning and Corpse witnessed Missy step out of her apartment and  _ he didn’t recognize her _ .

A mesh jacket, probably crocheted by herself, that reflected green and purple tinted yarn, a cute bralette top and high-waisted black shorts, the straps of a garter belt adorning the tops of her thighs and pulling up net stockings tucked into black heeled ass-kicking boots. Her hair was redyed a bright purple, makeup dramatic and all of her tattoos on display.

_ Ho-ly shit. _

Corpse had always seen Missy on the edge of masculinity so the switch to something completely feminine was a shock to his senses cause who the fuck was this?

_ Was this really Missy? _

She looked right at him then and  _ yep, that was her  _ cause she smiled the same toothy smile he could recognised.

“Mornin’,” she greeted with a wry look, shifting her weight onto one leg.

“You going to an event?” he asked cause that was all he could think to ask that was safe.

“Yeah,” she said with a deceptive shrug of her shoulders as if that didn’t draw his eye to the glittery highlight on her skin and collarbones, “It’s a two hour drive to LA so I gotta leave early.”

_ Jesus fucking Christ did she...was she flirting? _

Was she even aware of what she was doing? Her voice had dropped to a lower octave, she radiated the type of confidence he wished he had while showing so much skin. Her tattoos were dangerously complimentary and the easy way she stood, the tilt of her head, the smile that turned so fucking cocky, she had to have known.

_ Missy had to know how beautiful she was right about now. _

But just as soon as her attention turned to address him,  _ so had it turned away. _ She made her way down the stairs of their building, waving a dismissive hand behind her and oh she got her nails done for the occasion. She said, “Don’t wait up. I’ll probably be on the ten o’clock news!”

He was fucking pole-axed cause  _ holy shit _ , what type of party was she going to that required news channel attention?

Going back into his apartment, he checked the news channels for a hint of what the fuck she was talking about.

_ And then he found out. _

The Los Angeles Pride Parade. While it was still early, there were organizers, police presence, and even a few early bird people lining the streets and getting set up.

That must be where Missy was going.

Corpse...was aware that Missy considered herself LGBT+ in a way that she hadn’t clarified but it kinda didn’t...register?  _ He’d forgotten. _ She never made it obvious and it was a shitty thing to just bring it up during the few times they’ve interacted. He wasn’t too familiar with the LGBT community, at least not enough to take a guess what the hell purple and green colors meant. But him seeing her dressed to impress and exuding a pride in herself he didn’t normally see was an eye opener.

He had never seen this side of Missy before.

_ Because he didn’t care enough to look. _

At ten o’clock rolled around and he watched from his computer the livestream of the LA Pride Parade, he immediately saw what Missy meant cause the opening performance to the entire parade was what must have been a mile long collection of motorcyclists being led by police through the streets of LA.

The volume of people cheering was turned down, but the act of celebration was well underway. Flags of every color but most predominantly the rainbow, waved in the air and bikers of any genders and age, strapped with their leathers, colors, balloons, and flags rode past the camera. Music from the bikes blasted songs that must have been loud enough to shake the ground, sound systems vibrating a beat and even making the crowd sing along to the lyrics a time or two.

_ And then he saw Missy. _

A quick glimpse, not even fifteen seconds long but he had seen her riding her motorcycle without a helmet, purple hair spiked in a mohawk and her mesh jacket off for her arms to flutter two flags each, one purple-white-grey-black and the other green-lime-white-grey-black. Attached to the back of her bike was a large rainbow flag waving in the wind and then she was out of sight.

Corpse couldn’t focus on the rest of the event. Thinking too much and circling down the drain of so many questions with too few answers.

_ He didn’t even know where to begin. _

He was a straight-cis man who never really...sure he had friends in the past who came out as gay, bi, or lesbian, but he hadn’t been exposed like this. Missy was his next door neighbor. She was a part of a community he had never been fully aware of.

_ ‘Oh,’  _ he thought,  _ ‘That might explain a few things.’ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best to get inside the head of a straight dude looking at myself wearing the exact outfit Missy is wearing cause that's my Pride gear yo, but I think I failed.
> 
> I know I look sexy as all hell, but how the fuck do you write that as unsexual when you're in a straight dude's head?
> 
> I need to tell y'all now, there is gonna be no fucking romance in this story at all, this chapter ain't changing nothin'.
> 
> Couldn't help myself "dressing up" and looking good in font of a fictional dude with a deep base tone. Excuse me while I try to seduce a man from within my story for nothing but cuddles and food.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning!
> 
> This chapter includes self-speculation about internalized homophobia, ace-phobia, and aro-phobia.
> 
> This story is not meant to educate or even become a sort of "self-help" story to disprove toxic notions about sexuality cause hey, this is just a documentation of my experience and my experience is absolutely not the standard though i'm sure it'll ring familiar.

Missy was Ace.

Asexual. It meant that she felt no sexual attraction towards anyone. It just wasn’t her thing. Shit, the few months in highschool that it took to figure out that  _ ‘No, not everyone is about as interested as sex as her’ _ was mind-blowing. She didn’t know! She thought it was normal to not be interested at all until you met someone special  _ (hello, internalized-acephobia) _ . When it turned out that wasn’t the case.

Ho boy was  _ that _ an existential crisis.

First it was the  _ ‘Is there something wrong with me?’ _ and then the,  _ ‘Can I even?’ _ that led to a very uncomfortable realization that she not only didn’t feel any sort of sexual attraction...but was repulsed by it.

The label “Asexual” came a little later on and upon hearing and learning the definition she thought,  _ ‘That’s not who I am.’ _

_ Cause internalized-homophobia/acephobia was a mental construct she had to break down brick by brick. _

First to go was the notion that the label “ace/asexual” wasn’t real and it was some made up label that people coined to get attention. Second was the idea that all ace people couldn’t have romantic relationships. It took a while for that idea to be thrown out the window, finding out that ace people could have happy, healthy relationships with a significant other was a tidbit of information that didn’t come easily.

Who was she supposed to ask, especially when she didn’t think she was Ace herself? She found out the difference between Asexual and Aromantic, and finding herself more comfortable with the Asexual label, she found herself talking to her brother about it.

Zach wasn’t any help. Supportive, sure, but he was deeply entrenched in the gay-man perspective and experience, not even aware that there seemed to be two spectrums: the -sexual/-romantic side of LGBT+. But her opening up to him first made her much more comfortable doing research and even seeing a reflection of herself in the Ace community.

Telling her sister Arianna came just after Missy learned to accept herself and her desire to have nothing to do with sexual attraction or experience. Being Asexual was also apart of a spectrum of how sex-positive or repulsed a person was. Missy didn’t even know to find her comfort zone until much later on in college when she had to figure it out herself, coming to the conclusion that she was sex-repulsed.

_ And that was all, she thought. _

_ Ace, not Aro. _

That idea exploded out of the water and she was still fighting the internalized Aro-phobia to this day.

There was...she wanted to say  _ accident  _ but it was intentional. Incident?  _ It wasn’t a goddamn car crash.  _ Someone she cared for and loved platonically came out as having a crush and even desire to date her seriously.

That same person said something so drastic that it caused months of identity-crisis, and the revelation that something was “wrong”.

_ Good morning internalized Aro-phobia! _

She will admit that she still had trouble accepting herself as aromantic. Wasn’t even completely sure she was. All she was really sure of was that whenever she looked towards the future and to a significant other, she...didn’t think she had the capability for romantic interest/intentions/actions.

_ There she went again with her aro-phobia, making it seem “she wasn’t capable” as if it were some sort of disability, a flaw in her psych, or something that could be strengthened or rectified. _

There was so much to unravel with her accepting herself as Aromantic. In fact, it was a struggle she still fought today.

It hurt her. It still hurt her, despite the knowing and the unlearning of certain lessons inscribed into her blood and bone. It was heartbreaking finding the poison inside her and trying to purge it because...it was a poison for herself.

_ She was the one who thought she couldn’t love. _

_ It was she who thought Aromantics didn’t want any sort of relationship beyond platonic. _

The idea of queer-platonic relationships? Unheard of at that point and a fight she was still fighting within herself.

And don’t even get her started on what her pessimistic-depression fueled thoughts said when she was feeling particularly alone.

_ Nothing good ever came from there. _

“Yeeeeaaaaaaaaah!” shouted someone from her back, “AroAce represent!”

Missy turned around with a smile on her face waving her arms out to showcase the flags attached to her limbs and her chosen outfit, the glitter on her shoulders and skin, the rainbow paint job across her cheeks.

“Can I get a picture!?” a particularly excited girl said, her friends coming closer with smiles on their faces, pins, makeup, colors all colluding together to make a diverse flock of gays.

Missy was more than happy to pose with the group seeing as how they didn’t have an aroace representation, giving out her instagram to tag her in the photo, more than happy to show off her nails and hair done exactly for this event.

“Oh my gosh you look so pretty.” Turning back around, Missy was confronted by a group of very tall drag queens and  _ holy shit was she intimidated by their makeup holy the hell did they get it so perfect? _ “Selfie with us?”

She gladly agreed, trying to pose with these glamorous women and not feel like an ugly duckling within their midst.

It went on and on because of the way she dressed and how obvious she made her orientation.

_ Also, she was alone. _

New city, new area, she hasn’t made any friends with her local community, never mind the LA LGBT community. All of her other friends were back home no doubt marching through the streets and enjoying themselves as well. So Missy fluttered around like an imposter social butterfly, joining in on the dancing, singing, and joy of the celebration.

She made sure to smile at the kids who stared at her not for her colors, but for her cool purple mohawk, the tattoos covering her skin, and curb-stomping heels that gave her height and made her legs seem so much longer.

“Excuse me,” someone said and she turned around to see an older woman, someone’s mom by the looks of her shirt that read  _ ‘I’m proud of my son’ _ in rainbow print, “I hate to bother you but could you explain your flags and colors?”

The woman nudged a teenage boy forward wearing a regular t-shirt and cargo shorts with a rainbow flower lei around his neck. The boy looked uncomfortable being put on the spot by his mother but Missy was sure to smile at both of them to show she didn’t take offense and was more than willing to talk.

“Have you ever heard of Asexual or Aromantic?” she asked and the mother shook her head negatively while the boy gave just a little shake, probably shy to ask questions but still engaging. “This flag with the purple stripe is the Asexual flag. It’s for people who don’t feel any sort of sexual attraction. We can still love and have friends and even have significant others, but we’re not sexually interested in anyone.”

The mother looked kinda uncomfortable with her explanation but Missy didn’t take it as some sort of ace-phobia just yet. Perhaps she was uncomfortable with exposing her teenage son to the idea of sexual attraction. The boy did seem young, probably a freshman in highschool, maybe just graduated from middle school, but he didn’t seem repulsed by her explanation so Missy continued, “And this flag with the green stripes is the Aromantic flag. It’s for people who don’t feel any sort of romantic attraction at all.”

“So you’re both Asexual and Aromantic?” the woman asked her, just as someone’s firecrackers lit up, covering just how awkward the new words and vocabulary fit in her mouth.

“Yep!” she said, trying for confidence when a bit of unease still lingered in her heart, “I’m AroAce.”

“So you don’t want a boyfriend,” the teenage boy seemed to want clarification and corrected himself when his mother’s elbow jabbed into his side, “Or a girlfriend?”

_ Missy could only guess who these people were. _

The boy was most likely LGBT and new to Pride or even new to his identity. His mother came as support and is trying to be supportive and open to this entirely new world she and her son were stepping into. They probably didn’t know the culture, terminology, or anything beyond typical stereotypes and internalized homophobia.

_ They didn’t know how uncomfortable or bluntly ignorant it was to ask that question to anybody. Especially to an Asexual, Aromantic, or AroAce person such as herself. _

It was a basic question of,  _ ‘Do you even want love?’ _ that hurt so badly to answer.

She made it easy for them, “No, I don’t need it. I have family and friends. I have so many other good relationships that I don’t need or want a physical or romantic connection with anybody else.”

Missy pointed to the tattoo at the center of her chest, a perfect circle with black sunrays surrounded by a mosaic of different pictures that covered her whole chest but it was the circle she put into focus, “I’m complete and whole. I don’t need a second half of my heart to be free.”

Maybe they understood, maybe not. It wasn’t her job to preach at the ignorant, but to plant healthy seeds from which they’ll grow. She left them with her instagram account, a smile, and wish to enjoy the parade.

Surrounded by the biggest celebration of love and so many different people from all walks of life made her happier than any joy the last few months have had.

She might have been alone.

_ But she wasn’t. _

Missy was the closest to home she’d ever been in the midst of people who were her friends and allies. Who see her colors, who know her person and celebrate without judgement.

She felt nothing but relief.

_ She felt free. _


	26. Chapter 26

Corpse dreams.

Fragmented things. Quick flashes of short stories, never enough to tell the plot and often he forgets the disjointed images before he wakes. Mostly they’re of places he’s never been surrounded by people he could or couldn’t recognize. It never mattered. All of his dreams had the same old story.

_He had to do something and everyone else was going about their own character arcs._

Most times he’s running from something: zombies, a serial killer, the police, FBI, Men-in-Black, a crazy axe-murdering ghost that always seems to haunt his heels. He had a dream of running from a grotesque crazy person, their skin shiny with sweat for some reason and they didn’t run so much as glided within his dream and running in a dream sucks for Corpse cause he was always too slow.

There’s woods like the stuff horror movies set and then the dream switches to him being inside a hoarder’s house and the grotesque man is outside circling the house. There’s people inside the house with him and they’re so useless they don’t know to shut the fuck up and they move like a family of sardines in chum water or sheep in an open field.

The hoarder’s house is full of junk, windows piled high in trash but Corpse doesn’t know all the entrances or even if there’s a missing wall. He’s crouched down digging through the garbage trying to find a weapon, watching shadows pass by the windows and the dream is moving too fast for him to actually think logically, he’s only seeing screenshots of every five seconds or so. 

Then there’s someone beside him crouching down, snatching the stick of wood he hadn’t seen before and he looks up to see Missy’s face briefly before her back is already turned away and she’s running out the back door with the stick in hand.

And then the dream shifts again and he’s outside doing that stupid dream run and out of his peripheral vision his dream concots a scene where Missy is swinging her stick at the grotesque man who now looks alot like Michael Myers except with a hand pressed up against his neck as fat and blood spills out between his fingers. She is screaming her head off in one continuous, rage-induced scream but she’s still swinging and hacking at the man.

He’s still running but his brain connects the dots and tells a story of her stick having nails embedded into the wood and Missy would follow the grotesque man to the ends of the earth swinging her stick, sinking her claws and ripping him to pieces and Corpse is still running.

The dream switches to something else. Corpse walking around Italy with the sun on his face and he’s greeted by his friend Dave who speaks only in French for whatever reason.

He’ll forget about his dreams come morning.

~ X ~

Missy was having a great day!

Fantastic day! She woke up energized and with a song in her head cause sometimes her brain just does that. Instead of taking a walk, she put on her running shoes and went for a run, finally following the jogging trail she’s had her eye on for a few months, turning back when she took pictures of the bridge that crossed over the man made canal and how pretty the morning light looked breaking through the lush canopy of a tree she found herself taking a break under.

She recorded herself starting a new project and reading out new emails to bitch about. Missy had to admit that her clips were much more excitable than usual but she felt good! Just to spice things up at home, she put on her heels and even if she was wearing the Captain America T-Shirt she bought six years ago and a pair of running shorts, the heels did wonders for her confidence.

Missy danced in the kitchen when it was time to eat, preparing herself a taco salad lunch that’ll stretch to an extended dinner. Extra tomatoes, slathered in sour cream, with a handful of cilantro to blind her sinuses for the next thirty years. She posted a pic of her spoils on Insta before deciding to _fuck it, she wanted to call someone._

“Anna!” she greeted over the phone when she heard the pick up after four rings, “My good bitch, how has you been?”

Anna laughed over the phone, replying, _“It’s not even mid-June why the fuck are you so excited?”_

Just for the joy of it, she danced from her kitchen to the living room where she threw herself down on the couch. “I don’t know! Woke up hyper for once. How are you? Give me all the details.”

_“My good bitch,”_ Anna dramatically sighed, _“You don’t want to know.”_

Of course, that was when Anna regaled Missy with a full report of every single bit of gossip she had brewing away on her side of life, bitching about anything and everything before sharing all the funny stories of who went where and did what.

They weren’t...the closest of friends. Missy was friends with Hanks who was friends with Jonathan who was friends with Anna. When Anna finally broke up with her boyfriend, it was Jonathan who brought Hanks who brought Missy to both console and hunt down the ex- who really fucked up her sense of independence.

However, even if they weren’t close, calls between them were often long and very descriptive. They both loved to gossip, bitch about, and just tell each other stories meant to incite a reaction and the other always pulled through with reacting as organically as possible.

_It also helped that Anna was as bi- as Zevran from Dragon Age._

“So wait a minute, you’re telling me they’re your exact type and you’re not asking them out?” Missy asked.

_“I couldn’t just ask them out then!”_ she could imagine Anna curling up in a ball of embarrassment, _“They were wearing a skirt.”_

“You got distracted by a pair of legs? Must be a fine pair of legs. Tell me, do they got tush in the back? Little jiggle in their walk? Or was it the sculpted calves that seduced you?” Anna sputtered in laughter, trying to defend themself but Missy continued to tease her, “But do they have style? That’s the most important question that I need to know. Does Anthony have a good sense of clothes coordination?”

_“Yeah,”_ Anna admitted, _“I’ll send you the link to his Insta so you can check him out. I think he posted Pride photos yesterday. Two days ago maybe? We went to Pride together.”_

“Hold up, you guys went to Pride together and that wasn’t a date?”

_“No! We were going as friends.”_

“And you were going there in a-,” Missy had to pause, switch to her Instagram to recheck Anna’s page, finding the photo she needed as evidence, “Pastel rainbow lolita outfit. Right. It wasn’t a date. Wait a minute are you wearing the white Mary Jane heels?!”

_“Wh-yes?”_

“Bitch you dressed up! _‘Not a date,’_ my fat ass, you walking the street in those shoes? No you didn’t, you went to steal a man. Woman. A non-binary person.”

_“But your ass is fat,”_ Anna teased, _“The fattest. What was that? I can’t hear anything you’re saying from how loud those cheeks are clapping. Stop breathing for once so that they stop.”_

“You’re a liar and a cunt,” Missy said, “So you didn’t secure a date but you got their Insta, please tell me you’re talking and not sending memes back-and-forth like the last pretty girl you liked.”

_“Yes, we’re talking and-”_

“Ask them out!”

_“Missy!”_

It was all in good fun and they always had a great time playing “The Impulsive Friend” with each other. It was a source of levity that was sorely needed.

_“Wait, wait, wait,”_ Anna interrupted when Missy was telling her story, _“Corpse as in Corpse Husband? That Youtuber you showed me a few months ago?”_

Missy rolled her eyes, “Wow Ann, you cracked the case. My neighbor Corpse is the same Youtuber I listen to every night. The one who never did a face reveal. The one who’s into underground rap. Of course he isn’t! Two separate people, similar nicknames.”

_“Hey! Back up the sarcasm there, California might just jump into another drought you’re so dry. It’s not that crazy to think a guy with a deep voice that introduces himself as Corpse might just be, wait for it, another guy on youtube with a deep voice that introduces himself as Corpse Husband. Also, who the fuck gives themself the nickname Corpse? That’s just asking to be recognized.”_

“My brother Zack once known a dude nicknamed Bong, I’m sure ‘Corpse’ is the least interesting name you can give yourself in certain circles.”

_“How is Zack by the way?”_

“He’s good! It’s been a minute since we’ve talked but anyways; Corpse and Corpse Husband are two seperate people.”

_“Are you sure?”_

“Positive.”

_“You don’t even know the guy, what if he is?”_

_Well,_ Missy thought, _what if they were the same person?_

She didn’t even even hesitate in saying, “Then so what? I only know him as Corpse. I don’t know who the fuck this Corpse Husband guy is, he never introduced himself to me. My neighbor though? He’s a cool dude that needs to eat more and get a social life. Seriously, talking to him is like pulling teeth! Everything he says is a half truth and a mental paragraph of personal reasonings. Did I tell you about the-”

_“Yes you told me about the banana bread,”_ Anna sighed, _“If I have to hear you say that word one more time…”_

“What word?” Missy asked with a shit-eating grin, “Banana bread? What, don’t like me talking about banana bread even if banana bread is apart of the banana bread story about the loaf of banana bread?”

_“Stawp!”_ Anna complained and Missy laughed at her misery. _“Oh, I have to tell you a few things before we hang up. Keep you updated.”_

“Oh? What?”

_“Hanks talked with me the other day.”_

Missy shut off all valves of emotion to her heart. Put up a hastily made wall of cool veneer to ward off any inflection she could reveal over the phone.

“He doin’ okay?” she asked mildly, the anxious buzz at the back of her brain creeping up but she kept her focus within the moment.

_“Yeah,”_ Anna said, _“Doing better. He’s going out and about with the boys. Expect a phone call soon.”_

How long has the radio silence been? A month? Month and a half? Fuck, Missy felt her stomach squirm just a smidge but she kept her head in the game.

“How’s Jocelyn?” she asked, “You talk with her?”

_“Little bit,”_ Anna said, _“Ran into her the other day but we didn’t talk much, she had somewhere to be. Why? Haven’t you talked to her?”_

“Haven’t in a quick minute,” she admitted while keeping her tone light, “Didn’t want to upset the Mister if I started talking to the Missus behind his back.”

_“Hanks wouldn’t have gotten mad about you talking to his girlfriend,”_ Anna rebuked and Missy agreed.

_Hanks wouldn’t have gotten angry over something so petty._

But that didn’t mean anything when Missy was alone in her shower with too many thoughts that were all completely wrong. False scenarios and fantasy conversations were her constant entertainment when she had the social circle of a shark.

_It didn’t help that he never called her back._

“No, but it’s been a minute since we’ve talked.”

_“Hit them up sometime soon,”_ Anna advised, _“I don’t know much about what’s going on but Hanks should be up to date.”_

“Yeah or maybe I’ll call Cy or Jonathan,” she said, giving herself an out.

They ended their call on the two-and-a-half hour mark, Missy still thinking, thinking, _always thinking too much._

Missy’s Youtuber persona was exhausting; confident bad-bitch energy who gave no fucks and told it as it was. Her persona was bold and blunt and domineering in a way that was almost arrogance. On her better days, she described it as confidence, at her worst, it was _a superiority complex._

Truthfully, she was comfortable in her persona, loved it even. Missy was unstoppable and nothing could bring her down. But sometimes...especially when it was with close friends...she gave them power and breathing room.

Hanks had a problem and got mad at her for some unexplained reason? He had a right to his emotions and he had to be the one to bring it up. Someone got jealous and so uncomfortable that they stopped seeking out their friendship? Fine by her, whatever makes them happy in the end.

_Missy wanted friends who were her equals. If they had a problem with her, they should grow the balls to say it to her face_.

So the call ended and her nerves were thrumming in mild anxiety.

Like...her fight-or-flight reflex was for some reason getting pinged and she knew the danger wasn’t there.

Missy just hoped that her friend Hanks would give her a call.

_She didn’t want to think about the alternative._

Phone still in hand, she checked her Insta again to find that Anna really did send the link to Anthony’s public profile and she immediately followed, going through their first few photos and seeing that yes, they definitely made it a habit to wear skirts everywhere, they had a truly fantastic pair of legs, and in the latest post they did, Anna was with them posing in her cute outfit, colorful flags waving behind them and they looked happy enough, if still just friends for now.

She went back to her own page to log out when she noticed that she had a new message.

Checking through her recent chats, there was someone new and it looked like they screenshot her most recent taco salad post, sent it to her in the DM and messaged her saying,

_‘you got a boyfriend?’_

_…_

_..._

_..._

_Wow._

_Oh, wow._

_Shit._

_Hello anxiety. Thanks for dropping by. I really wanted to keep my food down this time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update came about cause there was a "missing chapter" i couldn't get my head out of then said "fuck it, lemme write a shitty dream sequence you had last week."
> 
> So yeah, dream about running the woods, finding a hoarder's house with a bunch of other people, then tearing into a villians neck with a piece of ply wood with nails stuck on the end? Totally real and fucked me up for a minute.
> 
> I don't usually kill my dream villians.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING
> 
> This chapter includes a coming out story and may be triggering to some readers.
> 
> Also, I want to tell everyone that Missy is an unreliable narrator, her thought process and emotional input here is very much flawed. I'm trying not to spoil future updates by mentioning just how much foreshadowing this chapter has cause its alot.
> 
> I have updated the tags if y'all wanna check what may or may not trigger you
> 
> This chapter won't give you a happy ending.

Missy got the call late at night.

“Where are you?” She asked over the phone, sitting as still as possible and projecting as much calm as she could, “Who are you with?”

_“Shut up,”_ Zack said and the phone went through some sort of turbulence. Wind? Fumbling? She didn’t know. _“I’m not drunk.”_

“You sound drunk.” It was true. When he was drunk, his inner country drawl slurred out his mouth like a snake in Eden, betraying blood he couldn’t deny. “Where you at?”

_“Dunno,”_ he said and she had to wait before she heard the mumble, _“Downtown.”_

That didn’t answer shit.

At least Missy couldn’t hear the highway or any busy streets. He wasn’t moving and if he was as fucked up as he sounded like, Zack wouldn’t be moving for a while. Probably found somewhere quiet. Some alley that smelled like piss and where gods found their tithes and offerings.

_“I fucked up,”_ she heard him say, _“I fucked up.”_

No surprise there.

Zack was her little brother and she loved him but sometimes it was all she could do to just watch him light himself on fire and say nothing.

“Yeah? Get in a fight?”

A flat, unhumored chuckle, _“Yeah. Fucking bitchass cockeating fuckers three of them.”_

When looking for a fight, it didn’t matter if it was deserved or not.

“Break your nose yet?”

_“No.”_ A clogged sniffle. _“Bleedin’ tho.”_

All that really mattered to Zack was both delivering and feeling pain.

“And you didn’t drink?”

Silence.

Her brother was the worst at phone conversations. It was easier to rip the bones from his body than for him to instigate meaningful talk. Missy learned long ago that the best way to get him talking was to let him breathe.

_“I told him.”_

“What?” she asked, unsure what she heard, “What did you say?”

_“I told him!”_ he nearly shouted in the receiver which caused Missy to jerk back and almost miss next what he said, _“I told Papa I was gay.”_

Cold dread filled her stomach.

Terror. The inexplicable feeling of danger.

And anger. Anger so potent it tasted like _hatred_ on her tongue.

Hate like a premeditated murder for poisonous grudges. In that moment, there was no one she hated more than her brother.

_She wanted to kill him._

“You _bitch,_ ” she choked out, “You fucking bitch. Where? How?”

_“FUCK YOU!”_ he screamed and thankfully he had the sense not to blow out her ear drums, _“Fuck you I had to! I fucking had to he was making another stupid girlfriend joke!”_

Anger lodged itself in her throat and rendered her mute. It took a minute for the homicidal _rage_ to abate, the red flashes she’d seen in her eyes being replaced by black spots as she forced herself to breathe, her pounding heart making her feel light headed.

_Fucking SHIT!_

_Shit Shit Shit motherfucking CUNT!_

Papa...their father loved them that was undeniable. He loved them so much, he loved his children just as much as he loved life and laughter and light.

_But he was also a practicing Christian._

Not Westboro Baptist Christian, but milder and yet still hurtful.

He loved his kids.

_He just didn’t know them._

And maybe it was their fault. They never told him. They kept their shared secret so meticulously hidden. It was their fault that he lived on the continued assumption that his kids were “normal” and “Straight”.

No, it was Missy’s fucking fault. She was the eldest and when her younger siblings were figuring themselves out she pressed them to keep secret. It was she who planned to keep the wool over their father’s eyes for years and wanted their silence. For it all to be quiet, unheard. _Let him continue to assume and never find fault in them._

Of course, she should have known that the loudest of the siblings, the one who rebelled and ached to scream his name as the world burned around him, he would use truth like a WMD and ruin everything.

_What fucking else was he good for other than destroying everything around him?_

“How did it go?” she asked in a whisper, a false calm freeing the emotions in her throat and Zack told her.

It started with Papa had latched onto a joke he found funny and teased the fuck out of him just for the shits and giggles.

_Sometimes he did that. Find something funny no matter how offensive. It was a Boomer thing._

It was probably because of Pride month did he suddenly go off about his son getting a cute girlfriend, _when’s the girlfriend coming over, how many girlfriends has he had, look at his son and what a man he is he probably already has a-_

What he didn’t know was that he was triggering his son to go _batshit insane._

Zack said he dented the car. He said there was yelling and door slamming. Tina was home and while she didn’t say shit, she witnessed the whole thing. He left before it could turn physical cause _the Garcia family do not swing, don’t you ever fucking swing in this household._

He went downtown cause it was the only thing he knew how to do and he couldn’t remember what happened between him spotting three drunk guys stumbling through a parking lot and finding himself laid out somewhere else.

Knuckles split, shirt ripped, blood dripping down his nose and in his mouth; he didn’t think of anyone else to call but his sister who lived a couple hundred miles away.

“Ari was home?”

_“Ari’s at a friend’s house,”_ Zack said to complete his story.

“Fuck.”

_Her hands were shaking._

The silence between them stretched long as Missy tried to form a single coherent thought.

She couldn’t think. Emotions flashed through her from every which way and she was reeling. Missy didn’t know what to do, how to plan, _how to keep her siblings safe._ And she was still so angry. Angry at Papa for disappointing her but unsurprised at his homophobia. Angry at herself for _feeling_ disappointed cause that only meant she had hope for hs despite the outcome. Furious with herself for not...for not planning around this. For not guessing this would happen and having no coarse to take. She was so far away and she couldn’t be there to help.

Missy was angry at her brother for being a failure.

_She was angry at herself for wretchedly thinking-_

“You didn’t tell him about us?” she asked cause she _had to know, had to check_.

_“No,”_ he cursed on the other end, _“Not gonna fuckin’ tell ‘im Ari’s got a girlfriend and you aint gonna ever give him grandkids.”_

“Did he kick you out? Did he specifically say he was kicking you out?”

_“No.”_ Another pause, breathing in deep and letting it out slow _, “Imma sleep at Lauren’s house.”_

“Shit.”

It was the worst case scenario.

Ari didn’t know the ticking timebomb Zack left to explode in her face when she went back home. Missy would have to call her to tell her everything cause their brother was a piece of shit who probably would leave out all the important details like _Tina was home._

Could...Could Zack even go home? Could he go back to pack his things at least? Fuck, Missy didn’t know his friend circle would they welcome him to crash at their place for a while? Does he have enough money to last him for a bit? If...If he needed it, she was willing to make the trip and drag her brother down to So-Cal to live with her.

_When will Papa call her?_

Missy was the oldest, the one who took care of her siblings when his hands were full. It was she also who first asked him how to tie a tie, how to ride a motorcycle, how to cut her hair short.

She was Papa’s favorite.

_When was he going to call her?_

Would he think Zack was sick or misguided? Would he think his son didn’t know himself? Did he think it was a choice? Would he...would he talk about how he tried to teach them all right, as if Zack being gay was somehow a fault in how he was raised?

_Would he despair that Zack wasn’t his son?_

In the end she was heaving in cold fury, her entire family spinning out of control and she couldn’t do anything to help. She wasn’t there to step in between, to lay hands on the situation and strangle them all into a family unit. Missy listened over the phone as her brother began to sniffle on the other end, stifled cries stuttered out and long drawn out whines began to ring in her ears.

Zack was crying. And she couldn’t do a fucking thing about it.

He asked in a whimper, _“Why doesn’t he love me?”_

Why couldn’t Papa love his kids unconditionally?

~~_‘Why didn’t Mom love us enough?’_ ~~

Missy stood to her feet, throwing her phone as hard as she could against the dining room wall and she didn’t care if the phone shattered, call ended, or if Zack could still hear her on the other end.

_Rage_ rent through her in an _agony_ bone deep, closing around her throat again and there was only one way she knew how to break free from the silence.

She started screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very much my real-life brother's coming out story to our papa.
> 
> I still haven't told my Papa I'm AroAce.
> 
> I don't plan to do it, ever, for reasons entirely my own.
> 
> Keep safe everybody. Come out on your time and not anybody else's.


	28. Editted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter editted to the best of my ability.
> 
> pest/present/future tenses may still be mixed up because I have no beta reader to read my trash.

Corpse had just happened to take off his headphones, rising from his desk chair to head to the fridge to fetch another bottle of water when he heard an impatient knock on his front door.

Checking the peephole, he saw that it was Maria, the downstairs neighbor, an older Mexican woman who already looked she was about to scold him.

_ “¿No me escuchaste cuando llamé la primera vez? Me quedé aquí esperando a que respondieras,” _ she said when he opened the door,  _ <<Didn’t you hear me when I knocked earlier? I stood here waiting for you to answer.>> _

Amused, cause Maria always seemed to treat him like her own child, he answered saying,  _ “Siento no haberte escuchado. Tenía mis auriculares puestos y funcionando.” _

He stumbled a little over his words but was successful telling her how he had been working with his headphones on, so extra points to him for actually using spanish for more than just ordering from the local roach coach.

Maria seemed pacified with his answer but her expression turned concerned. “Then you don’t know how your girl neighbor is?”

Corpse was mystified.

He had been engrossed all day in his music, skipping dinner cause there was a track in his head that he’d been totally focused on building, so for her to ask ...what was wrong?

“No, I haven’t heard from her all day.”

Maria’s concern was alarming, especially since her hands started fidgeting at her sides. She lowered her voice to explain, “Something bad happened in her house. We heard her get angry and start screaming earlier. But we didn’t hear no one come up or down the stairs. Should I call the police?”

Maria lived directly below Missy so of course they would be able to hear.. _.wait screaming? _

Corpse only heard her scream once and that was months ago.

_ What the fuck happened? _

“Hold on,” he said, “I’ll check up on her and I’ll call the police if something’s wrong. Go home and rest up, I’ll take care of it.”

_ “Gracias, mijo, gracias.” _ The relief in her expression was heartwarming and despite himself he wanted to reassure her, an instinctive reaction when a Mexican Mama calls anybody _ mijo. _

Closing his door, he was a bit at a loss of what to do.

Knock on the front door? No, Maria probably did that herself and knocked on his door when she didn’t get an answer. It was as good a try as any to knock on the wall they shared though.

Corpse went back into the bedroom, listening first to the otherside to see if he could hear any signs of life.

_ Morbid thought: what if Missy was actually murdered and therefore there wouldn’t be any ‘signs of life’ on the other side? _

He pushed the thought away, chastising himself for the ridiculous thought but as he listened and heard nothing, he couldn’t help but keep the thought in the back of his head. Knocking on the wall carefully, he wondered if Missy was asleep. It was, he had to check the time, midnight and normal people without sleep issues went to bed around this time right?

Fuck, this entire thing could just be a big misunderstanding. But whatever, he said he would check up on his neighbor for the sake of Maria’s worry so he would.

He knocked on the wall twice more and no answer came back.

Okay, so either she was still in her apartment or she was out. No wait, Maria said she heard no one come up or down the stairs so Missy was either in her apartment or…

_ The roof. _

Huh, not the worst idea. If Missy was upset enough to scream in anger, frustration, or even just in an anxiety attack then she’d be on the roof, right? Was that an actual habit of hers or was that awful night he’d caught her unable to get out of her own head some outliner?

Never hurt to check.

Having gone onto the roof once before it was so much easier for him to get up there a second time, barely pausing to fetch a jacket cause even if it was June in San Diego, the nights could easily grow cold enough for a shiver.

And upon popping open his own attic access, he could see that yep, Missy was up on the roof cause the roof access was propped open.

He didn’t have his flashlight so he turned on his phone screen to barely look around before popping his head out to see Missy. Corpse would have thought he would see her just as he did that other night, stressed to all hell and trying to breathe.

He was completely wrong.

He looked around to see Missy spread out on a blanket looking up at the stars, a bottle of clear liquid in one hand.

_ Oh shit. _

_ Something must be really fucking wrong. _

He pushed himself up onto the roof, mindful of the incline until he could crouch beside his neighbor. Her eyes were closed, earphones plugged in and he could faintly hear music blasting in her ears. She was dressed in a pair of sweats and a college hoodie, dyed purple hair mussed and it didn’t look she’d been pulling at her roots but what the fuck did he know?

Was Missy asleep on the roof? How the fuck would he move her if she was asleep drunk? The bottle in her hand was clearly alcohol of sometype. Corpse opted to nudge her arm a bit to see if she would wake up naturally.

“Yeah?” she asked, voice real rough and raspy, eyes still closed but surprisingly conscious.

“Heard you were screaming,” he said cause he was shit at acting like a therapist so might as well just state the facts right?

The expression on her face...eyes still closed but mouth pulled to a distinctly mocking smirk. It wasn’t attractive. It looked mean and derisive. The kind of expression you only see in supervillains and women who are about to kill their fourth husband.

“Das ol’ news,” she said, nearly growling with how fucked up her throat was. Her eyes opened and it might be just the dark night but her eyes looked darker, pupils blown out.  _ Fuck, she was really drunk. _ “God, you’re so fucking late to the party. Missed the dance off n’ e’rythin’.”

Missy sat herself up to lean back against her elbows, hair flopping down in front of her face as she took another swig of her poison of choice. When she put down the bottle, he took it to read the label, half watching her run her fingers through her hair.

“Vodka?” he said, “Thought you’d be into tequila.”

“You’da thought!” she barked out, laughing uproariously and not unlike a hyena, “You drink tequila for a fun time, vodka for pain.”

The observation was at odds with how out of it she seemed. How drunk was she even?

“How you feeling?” he asked, sitting himself down beside her. 

“Buzzed,” she sighed, laying back down and cloning her eyes to relax, “Bit tipsy. Not...no, not tipsy enough. Need another pull to get tipsy.”

Corpse moved the bottle out of her reach but she didn’t try to take her drink back. She just laid there, headphones taken off but still blasting music off to the side; calm, cool, and relaxed despite whatever the fuck she was going through.

“Not drunk?”

Eyes still closed, she scoffed, “Fucking lucked out on the good genes. Thank the fucking Mexicans!”

It came out bitterly and Corpse was surprised to see this side of Missy. Sure, he’s watched her YouTube videos, but none ever showcased any type of bitter...resentment. The persona of ‘that bitch’ she sold to the world had twisted and finally he was seeing the depth of it. Where it was aimed at or coming from, he didn’t know.

“Not drunk enough,” she decided before turning her head to Corpse, looking around and catching sight of the neck of the bottle very much out of her reach. “You the sober one tonight?”

“Didn’t think to bring my wine,” he said, watchful for if she would make an attempt to take her vodka back but she didn’t even twitch.

“Wine,” she mused, looking back up at the stars, “Drunk but with flavor.”

“And no class,” he silently agreed with her assessment, “I drink Stella Rose. Cooking wine if I’m poor enough.”

“Cooking wine!” she cackled, turning on her side towards him, reaching on hand out towards the bottle of vodka but he moved it firmly out of her reach. They were both on top of a roof, it was stupid to let her resume drinking. “Least not moonshine.”

“Fucking hate that shit.” He watched as she gave up reaching for the bottle, her eyes closing shut as if taking a nap was a more excellent use of her time.

_ But something had to be very wrong. _

_ And there was no one but Corpse there to help. _

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes opened and stared at him with nary a single emotion on her face. A cold look. One he’d never seen before, or at least, not on Missy. She was usually so expressive but now she was a glacial wall of ice; unscrutinized, impassible, and insurmountable.

“No, fuck you,” she murmured, her head rolling off the arm she tucked under there to softly thud against the roof, “Fuck you jackass.”

“How am I the jackass here, you’re the one cussin’ at me.” He was offended but amused. She was drunk. Corpse knew she wasn’t really calling him a jackass cause there wasn’t any oomph to it. It was like watching a wet cat complaining.

“You think,” she said slowly, rolling back over to lay on her back, “That Imma tell you my shit? What the fuck man, get real.”

_ Ah. Now he wasn’t amused. _

Tipsy Missy was a bitch. But the type of bitch that didn’t follow any pretenses. Was this perhaps no inhibitions, the subconscious reality that is her true personality or is this someone else entirely?

“We’re not fucking friends,” she said, eyes still closed and uncaring to how brutal her words could land, “I ain’t tellin’ you shit. Why should I? It’s not like we’re just friendly acquaintances. Barely.”

“ _ ‘Barely’ _ ,” he quoted her in disbelief, “I think being accomplices in B&E warrants more than just a ‘barely’.”

There was a lot more he could bring up just to show her that they were more than just on friendly terms. Missy gave him food multiple times. Corpse got into the firing range when multiple people acted hostile. Late night talks and if he really wanted to push it, their YouTube career. They’ve shared stories, a shared passion for content creation. Is it so hard to believe that they were more than just friendly acquaintances?

_ What about just friends? _

She sighed through her nose, arms coming up to grind the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, “Fine, we’re cool, but not  _ ‘trauma debrief’ _ level just yet.”

“Is there some sort of password I got to get before that special cutscene?” Corpse asked, slightly irritated _...understanding, but still irritated. _

“Fucking wait around and find out why don’t you.”

Drunk, or tipsy, Missy was turning out to be a mean motherfucker. Corpse would have thought sleepy or even lazy but there was a deep and intimate rage there that was just barely coming out. He was at the lip of the volcano, watching the crater bubbling red hot and dangerous.

“Anything here and now I could do to help?”

He was still here, sitting beside Missy with her vodka bottle in one hand unwilling to let his neighbor spiral any faster. Corpse has been there in the depths and some days it was harder to rise out of it, and he would never in a million years wish anyone to sink into depression. He didn’t know the details, didn’t need them, but he could try his best to be exactly where he needs to be for Missy or for anybody else who needed a helping hand.

Her hands dragged themselves down her face, eyes blinking open and a little teary, voice choking back a sob, _ “Just talk to me,”  _ before her breathing changed to stifle back her need to cry.

He was familiar with the tactic and even if he wanted to encourage her to cry it all out, it wasn’t his fucking emotions that he had to deal with. Missy could do whatever the fuck she wanted with her own emotions be it rage or grief, but it was Corpse` job to just talk.

So he did.

He told her about the anime he just watched and how his insomnia was acting up. He told her about his shitty car and how his driver-side door needed to be fixed. Corpse talked about how he tortured himself by looking up cat cafes in San Diego, only to hold himself back from visiting because he was allergic.

She chuckled at that so he told her more about the dog park he always passed by when getting his mail and the German Shepherd he always looks for cause their ears were too big for their head. He was vague in his stories about twitter and how fuckin’ funny people are, not wanting Missy to ask or wonder about the details of his online presence but he didn’t have to worry because though she was conscious throughout most of his talk, her eyes remained closed as if asleep. If it weren’t for the slight movements of her brows, he would have stopped talking all together but without a single word, she reacted to everything he said.

_ Throughout it all, he never tried to pry again. _

“So what’s gonna have to happen before we’re officially friends,” he asked once he exhausted every topic that came to mind.

“Feed me,” she immediately said, Missy breathing in deep to wake herself up from drowsiness, “Gotta feed me something you can make.”

“I make a mean salad,” he offered cause Corpse didn’t cook much and it was the first thing to pop up in his head.

“Better be a goodass salad,” she said, eyes opening back up and turning back on her side to look at him again.

“I’ll try,” he said, licking his lips under his mask, “What else?”

“God, how do people even make friends,” she complained, running a hand through her hair, “Gotta go places? What do you like to do?”

Corpse told her about going out to underground hiphop concerts whenever he got the chance, how he hated large crowds and how his own personal anxiety disorder made going to concerts hard to manage. How he liked hiking but he hadn’t gone for a complete years. He had a few favorite hiking spots but he hadn’t been because of life and how it always seemed to push him around. He mentioned once that he liked exploring old abandoned places, not for stupid ghost hunting purposes but just to go into empty places and vibe with the Twilight Zone.

He didn’t tell her about his fibromyalgia.

He also didn’t disclose where he’d been in 2018.

It...it was a bit personal. It wasn’t something you bring up to just anybody, despite Corpse and Missy’s tentative attempts to get to know each other better. He was sure he’d tell her sometime soon, but that night...it wasn’t...maybe one day he’ll share about the pain he had to live with, but it was exactly how she said it.

They were barely friends.

Maybe one day he’ll have a  _ ‘trauma debrief’ _ with her.

_ But not now. _

“I’d always be scared there’d be a homeless crazy person within the building,” she said when he finished sharing about the types of buildings he’s explored before.

“You? Scared?” he scoffed, “Thought you wouldn’t know the meaning of fear.”

“Corpse if there’s a crazy homeless guy covered in shit running at you cause you appeared in his den, ain’t no fucking way I’m not shitting my pants.”

“Then you’d both be covered in shit.”

“That sounds like the start of a bad joke,  _ ‘A corpse, crazy homeless man, and a shitstain walk into a bar-’ _ yeah that’s a bad joke.”

“That just means we gotta go explore sometime, catch you a crazy.”

Missy’s expression turned contemplative, studying Corpse’s own half covered face with a searching look in her eye. He...hadn’t been totally serious saying that out loud, just tossing out the idea as some postcard ‘what if’ situation but the more he thought about it, the more he actually thought,  _ ‘yeah, we could totally do that.’ _

“I’m down anytime,” she said to call out his bluff if it was one, but then she burped a bit with a grimace, “Wait, no, least not tonight or tomorrow. I taste death.”

“Need water?” he asked, already rising to his feet cause they’d both been out for too long and it was high time to get off the fucking roof.

“Gatorade,” Missy said, also getting to her feet, dragging her little picnic blanket off the roof tiles, “The water tastes like shit here.”

“You can’t taste water,” Corpse said cause that was the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“Hard tap water? The shit that comes out of the kitchen sink? You can taste the cleaning chemicals in there, our water supply ain’t that good.”

Missy was still buzzed if more sober than how Corpse found her. They both spent the last few hours talking about shit they really shouldn’t have with people they hadn’t confirmed were friends until the very last minute. But they were fine with that. Corpse didn’t expect to reach out in help and Missy probably didn’t expect him to appear with his hand extended.

They both dropped into the musty attic, Corpse closing the roof access as Missy jumped down into her own apartment, her head poking back out.

“Hey,” she said, “Thanks for finding me.”

“I did it for blackmail purposes,” he immediately said, which won a laugh, “You’re not gonna try and feed me again are you?”

“Do you need me to feed you?” Missy asked, an eyebrow raised already distrusting whatever he had to say about his own eating habits, “How often do you eat?”

“Everyday,” he defended himself and the dramatic scepticism in her expression was just there to tease.

“Talk to you later Corpse,” she said with a jaunty wave, “I’ll make some plans for either urban exploration or a hiking trip soon.”

“Are you serious?” he asked, a bit surprised that she would bring it up.

“I’m serious,” she said while giving him a daring side eye, “Are you?”

He was learning that Missy was a harsh judge and he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about that.

“Deadass.”

Missy disappeared back into her apartment, closing her attic access right after herself.

Corpse was about to jump down his own attic access when he realized,

He still had her vodka in his hand.


	29. Editted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an Author's Note but resubmitted as a chapter in the story with some Actual Plot.
> 
> Also,
> 
> WARNING: homophobic ideology is not only discussed but not refuted.
> 
> Notes at the bottom will clarify what happened within the story to the best of my ability.

The call came just when she expected it.

After work hours. Papa would have clocked out, took the thirty minutes to drive home, and thirty minutes to take a shower and grab a snack before sitting himself down, pulling out his phone, and speed-dialing his eldest daughter.

Missy had been waiting for it, sitting at her desk with her palms cold, sweating, and shaking from barely suppressed nerves. All day she planned out a course of action and she was as near to ready as she could be.

The phone began to ring.

_ No, don’t pick it up immediately, wait for the fourth ring. One-two rings was preparedness, three rings was staged, four rings was just the perfect amount to suggest Missy wasn’t expecting this call. _

“‘Eyyooooo,” she greeted normally, one hand clutching the phone, the other cupping her chin to force her voice and mouth to move and sound normal even if the urge to vomit crawled up the back of her throat.

_ “Hello, you got a minute to talk?” _ asked Papa on the other side.

She heard the kitchen sink running on the otherside, probably stress cleaning as he tended to do. He wasn’t resting.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

He told her about last night.

From his perspective, it came out of nowhere. He made a bad joke and Zack exploded in a angsty hormonal rage, claiming that he was gay clearly to spite him. Zack had stormed outside and Papa followed to continue the argument that only happened because Tina was there and if she wasn’t there, he wouldn’t have raised such a fuss.

The car was banged a bit but nothing a good buffering couldn’t fix. Zack hadn’t come home that night and Ari called saying she was staying a few extra days at her friends house.

_ “Have you heard about any of this? Is this what his friends are telling him? That he’s gay when he isn’t?” _

Something quaked inside Missy’s rib cage, her heart fluttering with nerves and she forced back the bile on his tongue to speak.

“I knew.”

_ “How long has this been going on? Do you know who his friends are? I know you guys have separate circles but maybe Hanks or Anna or-” _

“I don’t know,” Missy lied, “And no, none of my friends are connected with his.”

_ “It’s those online friends of his,” _ Papa said with conviction, kitchen pans banging on the other side of the call,  _ “The ones he talks to everyday. They’re trying to convince him he’s something he’s not.” _

The idea had its merits. There was a history he was referring to. The time Zack met up with a ‘friend’ who turned out to be an older guy trying to groom a younger boyfriend. The time he had a long distance relationship and it turned out his SO (boyfriend but Papa didn’t know) had been fucking other people since the beginning.  _ The stalker. _

But he was wrong this time.

“Papa,” Missy changed her voice to something reasonable, something manipulative, “He’s twenty-two.”

_ “Yeah! But he doesn’t act like it!” _

Don’t...don’t tell Zack but that was one of the biggest regrets their father had; that his son wasn’t the paragon of manliness. Her brother was emotional, defensive, quiet, and so unlike Papa that the man often didn’t know how to connect with his son. If only he was more like him. _ If only he was less like his mother. _

“He’s twenty-two,” she reiterated, “So let him be. Let him say whatever he says he is. Let him go and experience life cause he’s going to fuck up sometime later. Zack will figure out who he really is when he’s covered in shit and there’s no way forward. Let him.”

Maybe Missy was vindictive.

_ Maybe this was a sign of something much more worrying. _

_ “You said you knew,” _ Papa said over the phone. The sink had stopped running. The kitchen pans remained silent.  _ “Why didn’t you say anything? How long have you known?” _

Missy always wondered what her dad thought of her own sins. He was always so caught up in trying to save his son from self-destructing, she sometimes questioned if he even knew to worry about his eldest, his favorite, the perfect compilation of what he and his wife had taught their kids.

_ She did what she did best. _

“Awhile,” she said cause a sprinkle of truth always made the lie so much easier to believe, “But it’s none of my business. I didn’t care. I thought he was joking. I didn’t know he really believed that about himself.”

Papa took that as truth and left it at that.

He kept talking and Missy kept listening but there wasn’t anything new said.

A reiteration of what happened, his thoughts on how subversive it was to be gay, how all these young people just want to be included with something and they didn’t know themselves. He didn’t bring up the bible because though he follows the holy book, he knew that Missy didn’t.

She sat there and listened, piping up at times to comment but not saying much. He called her to talk, for an insider in the nuclear family to listen to his side, to vent and have at least one of his kids hear him.

_ They didn’t talk about Tina. _

That said a lot more about the situation than what Papa thought it did.

By the time they hung up, her living room was washed with the dying sunlight, bright orange and magnifying the beginning shadows of night. Missy put down her phone face down, sliding her legs out of a cross to plant her feet on the floor, bending over to tremble over her thighs, face pressed hotly to her knees. The heel of her palms covering her eyes as she moaned and began to cry.

Her heart ached for her brother who couldn’t be accepted for who he was.

Ached for her father who loved so much but either missed all the right reasons or the wrong people.

Ached for herself who had to carry this burden and carry it well. To spin a lie, even a hundred miles away, to keep their tiny family together.

She hated herself just a little bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, the character 'Papa' discusses Zack's homophobic identity as an immature decision, with a light sprinkle of "it goes against nature/the will of god"
> 
> Missy in response does not refute this.
> 
> She only focuses on "he's an adult and can make his own decisions" while also suggesting to "let Zack think what he wants and let him burn for his own decisions."
> 
> In doing so (or not refuting), she is implying that Zack being gay will cause him to burn and come to regret his decisions. It also subtly implies that being gay is a choice and not a truth of character.
> 
> This is a form of manipulation FROM MISSY. Missy is forming a narrative for Papa to believe, that she herself isn't gay, that she stands in solidarity with Papa for her brother being a "angsty, hormonal" train wreck.
> 
> If there are any questions, please comment so that I can give any sort of clarification needed.
> 
> This scenario isn't fictional. Missy is like this because me, the Author, is like this. I'm the manipulative piece of shit your mother's always warn you about.
> 
> Future chapters will expand upon this.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY!!! YOU!!! THE ONE READING THIS RIGHT NOW!!!
> 
> You may want to go back to Chapter 28 and 29 cause they're fulled editted, have some plot points you might want to know before reading forward.
> 
> Happy Holidays btw!

Corpse was surprised to see Missy so soon after their little party on the rooftop.

He was kinda disappointed she wasn’t hungover.

That would have been hilarious but it was a missed opportunity. It had been two days since that night and despite whatever the fuck she was dealing with, there they both were in Starbucks waiting for their orders.

He almost didn’t recognize her, never seeing her in such a casual setting not the corridor of their apartment building and he had never witnessed her at this particular Starbucks either. Corpse just happened to see her after ordering, her entire focus on her phone screen, dressed like she was ready for a day out on the town.

“Chai latte, iced, no whip for Missy!” came the call at the counter.

She didn’t see him grabbing her order but she did when turning back around. She smiled her same wide, toothy grin, making her way over towards him with an easy, “Hey! I didn’t see you come in.”

“Shit, you spotted me, my invisibility spell failed.”

Missy laughed and it...it seemed so normal. Was this usual? Have a breakdown and then just carry on like nothing happened? Corpse’ entire existence was one trip away from an existential crisis...a dumpster fire...a rave in a cemetery...ground zero for the biggest fuck up in human history...you get the point.

“Got any plans for today?” she asked, “I’d’ve thought you’d stay home till night. Don’t the sun turn you to ash?”

“You saying I’m ashy?”

“I’m saying I’ve never seen you eat garlic, wear religious symbols, sleep, or your teeth. Who knows, might be hiding a pair of bloodsucking fangs under there.”

Corpse’ order was called which he went to collect before returning back to Missy who looked around the store.

“Wanna take a seat and chat for a bit or you got places to be?”

Looking around, the Starbucks had a clutter of tables and chairs kinda squished together that absolutely triggered his anxiety just...being around people. People he didn’t know. Voices.  _ People. _ But on the far end where the bathrooms were two empty tables with no nearby plug and tucked away from people’s line of sight. 

“Follow me,” he said before picking his way over.

They took a seat once Corpse looked around and was appeased by the distance away from everyone else. They weren’t going to linger long, his anxiety may act up later but it was adequate for the time being.

“How was the hangover?”

“I hate drinking,” she groaned and he laughed at her misery, “Nearly passed out from the fucking migraine it was so bad. Took some instant painkillers and then some actual pills cause why not have a hangover when I can overdose as well?”

“Tell me where you get them instant painkillers and I’ll tell you mine.”

“It’s so fucking ghetto, you take your regular pills and crush them to dust, or just get painkillers in their dissolvable form, and them you rub that shit under your tongue.”

“That doesn’t work,” he said in disbelief.

“Might not, but the placebo effect is like goddamn heroine.”

“And...life? Is it better?”

He was referring to the situation that caused her to drink in the first place. Corpse didn’t know shit, but what he did know was that people had a way of healing from trauma that always seemed impossible.

Missy knew what he was saying behind his words and instead of the cold impassiveness she had reacted to him before, she just sighed, closed her eyes, and tilted her head to the side as if her head was too heavy at the moment.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice warm and nothing like the night on the roof with vodka on her tongue, “It’s getting better. Kinda fucked up when it happened but it’s over now. Nothing more to do than to get over it.”

There was about four different reasons why that last sentence was so wrong but Corpse wasn’t getting anywhere close to addressing them.

“But how are you? What plans do you have for the day?”

Corpse told her about his friend who was also into making his own music and how he was going to head over soon to hang out. What he didn’t tell her was just who his friend was and that just maybe this was his first step into getting his own music out there and recognized.

Missy remained interested throughout the entire explanation though admittingly, she couldn’t play a single instrument to save her life, so it was cool to meet someone who could both write their own music but also make it.

_ Not once did she ask to know more about his songs. _

“So I’m here for my coffee addiction before heading over there to the Eastside.”

“Wait, are you exaggerating or is it really an addiction?” she asked to clarify.

“If I could find a way to stream coffee directly into my bloodstream, I will...I will...do something drastic, I don’t fucking know.”

“I had a coffee addiction back in highschool,” Missy shared with crossed arms, “It was finals week when I stopped drinking coffee for two days, on the second day I got a migraine so bad I went blind for three hours. When we were walking home, my brother had to guide me along. Swore off coffee, been drinking tea ever since.”

She toasted her drink in the air and he was about to share his own horror stories of migraine induced pain when Missy just happened to look over his shoulder and...something weird passed over her. An expression he hadn’t seen before.

_ No, he had seen it, just not in the light of day. _

“Hey! It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Highschool right? Kylie or something?”

Without permission or acknowledgement from both parties sitting at the table, this...random guy just grabbed a chair and sat down, smiling easily and comfortable at Missy whose expression had turned back to something cold and aloof.

“No,” she said, her head tilted to the side and unamused, and her voice changed, a little deeper and her dialect rich with disdain, “You don’t know me from either highschool or by my name.”

“Really? Cause I could swear you look so familiar,” he said before turning to Corpse, “And I know you too, Santa Maria High right?”

Unfortunately, Corpse did attend Santa Maria High, but for all of four months before he was transferred somewhere else. Did he recognize this guy? No. He didn’t have a clue.

What he did have a clue, was exactly who he was after.

Corpse and Missy looked at each other and it was telepathic how they agreed to deal with him.

_ Let’s mess with him. _

“We were just talking about weaponry,” she said, “Knives to be exact.”

“Oh knives? I have a ton at home, all sharp enough to cut a finger off,” this guy said.

He didn’t even offer a name. The guy was White as White could get, sun-bleached platinum blond hair wearing cargo shorts with a button-up over a T-shirt. Even his voice and grammar said it all; guy’s a fuck boy.

“So I was wondering, Corpse, what do you think of this one I just got.”

As casual as you please, Missy reached to her belt and unclipped the knife at her hip, spinning it in her palm to offer the hilt to him.

Fuck boy went  _ white, _ translucent white, his eyes wide and near bulging in shock. Corpse took the knife from her hand, playing along to her charade of scaring the crap out of this fuckface.

“Needs some sharpening,” he mused, honestly a little impressed by the knife cause fuck does he love knives but he couldn’t nerd out when Fuck-boy was watching him and their interactions, “And illegal.”

“Not illegal,” Missy said, taking the blade back when he offered it and easily handling the knife back and forth her dominant and indominate hands as if testing the weight and mobility. Fuck-boy sat tense and perfectly still; prey watching the predator lick her chops. “It’s not a switch-blade and it comes with it’s own sheathe with a latch. Carry it on me openly and everything.”

“The blade is longer than your palm,” he reasoned, watching both Fuck-boy and Missy as she strapped her knife back into place, “Therefore, illegal in California.”

“You know you really remind me of someone,” the Fuck-boy said, “Like a celebrity or something. Do you know who-” He rattles off a name that neither Missy nor Corpse heard of and don’t care to look up. Fuck-boy kept looking at her and ignoring him. “So you either look like her, or exotic. What ethnicity are you?”

_ Exotic. _

_ Fucking shit, guy put his whole damn foot so far into his mouth his toes were tickling his intestines. _

The look on Missy’s face...holy shit, she wasn’t playing anymore. Like a switch flipping, her passive-aggressiveness turned into something colder than contempt.

“Trust me,” she said with a smile, and it might be just his imagination, but it looked alot more like baring of teeth than anything friendly, “You ain’t gonna scratch off whatever Bingo-Fuck card you think I’ll slot into. Truth is, you’re not my type, so fuck off.”

“No, no!” Fuck-boy scrambled to reassure, “I’m not some fuck boy, I just think you look pretty and wondered what you are.”

“I’m irritated,” she said and…

_ Oh. _

Okay he had never seen it in third person before and it was kinda awesome.

_ Missy was looking down at him. _

Fuck-boy continued to yap his mouth but she was unmoved. The tilt of her head, the slight sneer that curled upon her lip, even her half-lidded eyes just screamed, _ ‘I’m judging the fuck out of you and find nothing much.’ _

Corpse had seen that look before when it was aimed at himself but never anyone else and now that he has…

Well shit, maybe she was a bitch.

But like, the kind of bitch that would crush her enemies into dust.

Kinda cool to witness.

“So are you in a relationship,” he asked, turning in his seat to finally acknowledge that Corpse was right there, “Are you two dating?”

While Missy remained quiet, it was Corpse’ turn to pipe up, “No, we’re not.”

Fuck-boy did a double-take.

“Shit man, what the fuck you do to your voice? Is that even real?”

“It’s none of your fucking business, that’s what it is,” she nearly snarled that reply, turning Fuck-Boy’s attention back to her.

“Whoa, you cuss?”

_...that was stupid. _ Corpse looked to catch Missy’s eye but she was looking Fuck-boy dead in the face with something akin to disdain.

_ “Oh, sweetie,”  _ though the words rolled off her tongue like honey, her eyes glittered with something cruel, “You have no fuckin’ idea, don’t you.”

_ Pity. _ The type you give to dirty, rabid animals just minutes before you shot them in the back of their head. Her accent changed once more to something more country, like a southern belle who slipped arsenic into her cheating husband’s drink. How could she not pity his lack of self-awareness, his ignorance to everything around him; shit, to the leather motorcycle jacket, tattoos, short cropped hair, and knife at her belt and not understand that Missy was out of his league?

“You’re…” Fuck-boy trailed off and Corpse not be able to see his entire expression but he could see enough, “Not like any other girl I’ve met.”

The line was so overused, so cheap, so laughably pathetic, that Missy threw back her head and laughed.

_ Loudly. _

Like a hyena.

_ A predator howling for blood. _

“Oh suga’, you must not know many girls then.”

“I know a lot of girls!” Oh good, it would see that fuckface could tell he was being laughed at, “I probably know more girls than you!”

“I’m the one with the tits,” she said having stopped laughing to glare at Fuck-boy, “By default I know more women then you. And let me tell you, we might not all be the same, but a real woman with standards wouldn’t let some short-dick, boring ass, motherfucking  _ cunt _ fuck us.”

Missy stood up from her seat and Fuck-boy stood up too. Corpse had to restart his brain for a second to also stand, taking his half empty cup of Starbucks as he looked between the two.

Fuck-boy was probably two inches taller than Missy and even if he looked ready for a confrontation, he surely wasn’t going to win. Missy stood toe-to-toe at him and with an actual growl said,  _ “Fuck. Off.” _

Maybe she had bad breath.

Or maybe Fuck-boy actually got a clue, jerking back and stepping out of the way before Missy stomped his toes with her timberland boots. She looked pissed enough to deck him in the face but strode away with nary a backwards glance with her spine straight, head held high and dignified, only slowing in her steps for Corpse to stand at her side before they left him without grace or mercy.

Maybe it’s Maybelline.

There was no epic rock music to announce their departure even if Corpse’ heart thumped heavily in his chest, the chorus of ‘We are the Champions’ running through his head.

“So I’ve got a few places to be,” Missy said, a smile on her face and voice reverting back to its usual tone as if nothing ever happened, “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” he said still riding the high of excitement but aware that time moves for no one, “Catch up with you later.”

It was nice chatting with her, as short the conversation that they had.

Maybe next time they’ll be able to talk without so many people around.

Or with the chance of having to meet a total asshole.

…

Nah, next time that happens, he’ll be ready for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying my best to somehow sneak in a Coming-Out scene with Missy and Corpse but just when I was about to write it in this cute cafe scene...a memory hit out of nowhere.
> 
> You see, Fuck-boy is a real person who actually did do exactly what I've written in this chapter.
> 
> These are actual quotes from this fuckface, "You look like a celebrity" "You're so pretty, and exotic, where you from?" "I'm not a fuckboy!" "I know more girls than you!"
> 
> And yes, I did try to scare him off by pulling a knife out in the middle of Starbucks.
> 
> But no, I didn't say, "I'm the one with the tits." I said, "I'm the one with the vagina"


	31. Chapter 31

Missy swung open her door wide with a smile and a greeting, “Good morning! Come in, please come in. Take your shoes off at the shoe rack.”

Natalie came into her apartment with tentative steps, carrying within her arms a ceramic bowl covered in foil. “I brought chicken parmesan for lunch. Do you mind…?”

She was already taking the food out of her hands and placing it down on the kitchen counter where a loaf of her homemade bread sat sliced and lathered in garlic butter.

“I got some garlic bread that I just need to toast up. Are you hungry now or do you mind waiting for the twenty minutes?”

“I don’t mind waiting,” said Natalie, having taken off her shoes and standing in the midst of the living/dining room unsure where to sit or put her hands to work.

Popping her food in the oven quickly, Missy threw a smile at her neighbor and said, “Have a seat at table, I’ve prepared everything for the evening.”

“I can see that, this is kinda cool.”

Natalie and Missy were tentative friends. Not incredibly close, but today was the first day they managed to spare an evening to get together for some good ol’ socialization. Natalie had a day off where her boyfriend would still be at work so Missy planned this whole event. The dining table was covered in gift wrapping paper, cluttered at the table center was a whole color array of paint bottles and random tubes, an old seven-eleven Big-Gulp jug full of brushes, pencils, pens, and painting utensils with a couple In-n-Out cups of water ready to be used. Two plates were set, and the third seat was reserved for four canvas’ ready for them.

When the bread was done and dishes were served, Missy made a big show pulling out an old kettle with pre-brewed tea to pour into a beautiful set of tea cups. With an impish grin on her face, she said, “Now...spill the tea, sis`.”

_ They gossiped. _

Not about anything new because they were relative strangers to each other but they brought up all of the old tea that aged like fine wine; trading tips and tricks, heartaches and back pains, the bewildering and plot twists that’d make any housewife swoon.

Natalie shared her story about how she walked into a college frat party without knowing a single person there and stealing all the booze in their rich parents cupboards. Hitchhiking with her friend to Las Vegas, only to be picked up by two women terrorists (no, she did not explain further the how/why it became known that the two women were terrorists, but there was a gleam to her eye that told the rest of that story). There was the story of going back with her family to Vietnam to visit the grandparents and finding out that her grandmother grew and sold marijuana in the backyard. How Natalie’s father used to be the bodyguard of a bank owner who was  _ dealt with  _ because of his dealings with narcos.

Missy in turn shared about her ex-best friend and how she turned into a controlling narcissist and made an ARG on twitter about the secret life of her doll (it’s just as weird as it sounds). How one of her schoolmates became a mucher lesser known school shooter, mostly because he was caught before he could do any real damage beyond breaking the ceiling walls with gunfire, and scaring everyone. When her papa was younger, to get back at a bully in high school, he stuck a needle (unclear whether it was a sewing needle or...needle of nefarious origins) straight up on the seat of his enemy only for them to sit down and get sick, from tetanus or another illness unclear.

They talked about boys; Natalie’s few ex-` and Missy’s wide variety of Fuck Boy’s she’s had to both literally and figuratively punch in the face. As they finished their meals and began painting whatever they wanted, their voices got quieter and their stories turned to a different route.

“Once,” Natalie said, the paintbrush in her hand moving carefully across the page, “I woke up to my ex-boyfriend lying on top of me. I told him to get off but he refused, said that cause I was his girlfriend, he could fuck me and it wouldn’t be rape.”

Missy nodded her head to show she was listening, dipping her paintbrush into her next color, “I had a friend named Valerie. When her father went crazy, she called me because he was screaming and her arm was cut to the bone, she had to come live with us for two months and my papa broke both his ankles.”

“We grew up homeless,” Natalie said, calm and cool as-you-please, voice never inflecting to show the vulnerable pain beneath, “Living in a van where all we’d get for dinner was a pringles can.”

“Same,” Missy said, giggling a bit as if sharing a joke between them, “Except we had cheetos.”

_ This was called ‘Kitchen Talk’. _

A near ritual among women, to share stories for nothing else but to hear them, say them. Women hold stories from so many others like a hive mind, knowing pain and empathizing with it. Not for sympathy. Not for respect, or some over emotional reasons.

_ Sometimes, trauma is just memory. _

_ It happened and doesn’t hurt anymore. _

_ Then it can be taught to others. _

“She’s not my blood mom,” Missy confessed, “She’s the Mom who raised and molded us within our most formable years. She’s Mom when and where it counts. With all her flaws.”

“I think I have endometriosis,” Natalie said, “I haven’t told Adam yet that sometimes it hurts to have sex with him.”

“No, I never cut myself. I don’t have any scars underneath my tattoos. But I used to scratch myself. Scratch up my arms and legs constantly.”

“I used to be one of five Asian kids in my Middle School,” Natalie grimaced, “It wasn’t a good two years.”

Stories for the sake of stories. Wisdom shared. All women were taught by a collection of other women. It was not shared pain for the sake of pain, but for understanding.

“There’s a guy named Ryan,” Missy said, finally sharing something new and recent, a warning disguised as gossip, “He’s been caught grooming and having sex with mutliple underage girls. Under sixteen, over thirteen. There’s a warrant out for his arrest because before they could detain and charge him, he ran away.”

“AJ’s been been going up and down the stairs,” Natalie said, turning to look her in the eye, “He’s been watching your’s and Corpse’ door.”

“Who?” Missy asked, suddenly alarmed.

“AJ? The downstairs neighbor? The guy you stinked-bombed and I put firecrackers in his car?”

“Oh! I’ve been calling him Cuck-face in my head for a while, I never knew his name.”

“He’s been watching the stairs,” she explained, “Whenever I go down the stairs, he opens his door to take a look before closing it again. Adam says the same thing. I think he’s watching for when you and Corpse leave your apartments.”

“Think Nelson knows about it?”

“I don’t know. Have you noticed Maria has been letting her kids play outside nowadays?”

“I have. Didn’t know it’s cause of that guy.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t seen or heard him lurking about.”

“I don’t normally care to be aware of pieces of shit like that. I’ll keep an eye out now.”

Gossip. They were gossiping.

Lessons and veiled warnings dressed in their Sunday best, all women know a woman. A collective trauma, carried by all. Not all women are sexually assaulted but everyone knows someone who has. Not all women suffer from domestic violence but we keep names, faces, bruises close at hand. Not all women. Not all women.

_ But all women are taught by other women lessons and warnings to take heed. _

“Do you have friends in the city? Someone to call when you need help?”

“I started my knife collection back in High School, I have a few lovely pieces, you want to see them?”

“Adam tells me that the CCTV outside all the buildings are fake. The only one that works is the one by the manager’s office. He could tell because the cameras don’t have glass lenses, they’re plastic.”

“Did you hear about the neighbor across the way with the blue Mustang? The one car whose windows were busted in and keyed up? Turns out, the guy who owns it was fucking his girlfriend’s sister and her mom caught them.”

“Did you hear that there was a murder not two blocks away? Police say it was drug related but I think the neighbor across the way knows something and they aren’t telling.”

Gossip.

They were gossiping.

That’s what Natalie will tell her boyfriend when he comes home from work.

Missy will pick up her phone to call Ari, Anna, Jasmine, her ladies.

“Hey, have you heard?” she will say to them.

It’ll all be gossip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one(1) more 'filler' chapter to do before i finally move onto the next arc in the story and I honestly can't wait.
> 
> Next chapter's gonna be so fun, I get to tell someone off!


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Opening my email account after four days of binge watching One Piece  
> Ao3 Email: Your Account has been suspended  
> Me:  
> Me: Damn it, I've been banned from Dave & Buster's

Don’t...don’t ask why Missy was sitting on the staircase.

It didn’t really matter. There were a ton of different reasons and none of them mattered because no matter what, Missy still sat alone on the staircase, going through her phone and listening to music cause there was nothing better to do than the mindless things that didn’t chafe or obligate her to exercise normality.

It was the middle of the day and even as the air circulating the building slowly built up to an uncomfortable stale heat, she sat unmoved listening to music on the lowest setting.

A shadow passed the hall window and a neighbor walked into the building.

Missy didn’t recognize him; tall, blonde-auburn hair, acne splashed across his cheekbones and pointy chin. She didn’t care enough to do anything but get a quick glance, turning back to her phone and flipping through Instagram where she watched her seventh video of a home renovation.

“You’re Corpse’s girl, right?”

She glared at whoever this fucker was, anger a quick wick to light and burn. “No. We’re not together.”

“But you live in the same building, right?” He grinned boyishly at her and it became clear all he was trying to do was build a repertoire.

Missy...wasn’t adverse to that. She heard about him, rumors mostly. The guy dealt marijuana, but the legal kind. He works at a store that was reputable and if some of the company that comes and goes from his apartment was anything to go by, he might actually deal out of his own house.

She just hated how awful he was at building a connection.

He must have seen something ugly in her attitude cause he was quick to say, “Hey, I just wanted to let you know, if you needed something extra, all you gotta do is knock on my door.”

“You growing it? Or is it store quality?” Missy asked cause that was all she was interested in. No more chit-chat, all business.

“My stock’s clean,” he defended, “Best this side of the city. You interested in buying now?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, realistically she didn’t have any cash on her so she couldn’t buy an ounce but it was best not to say that to her possible weed-dealer’s face.

“Got a business card for that store of yours?”

He shoved a hand into his jacket pocket, pulling out a white card with the familiar leafy-green symbol and info.

“‘Ey.” he said once he saw her actually enter the address into her phone mapping system. When Missy looked back up, the guy was holding out a rolled one in offer to her, his other hand fixing his front jacket pocket where presumably the rest of his stash was. “My name’s Andrew. First one’s on me.”

She took it from him, making sure to keep her eyes on him during the transfer, catching his wink before he stuffed both hands into his jacket pockets. She gave him a smile, unabashedly flirting back because while she absolutely wasn’t interested...maybe he might give another free one in the future. It wasn't good business to have a bad first impression.

“Thanks. I’m Missy.”

~X~

The soft knocking against Corpse’s wall was a little unexpected.

Both of them ignored the opportunity to talk to each other through the wall that separated their bedrooms. Firstly, because it was admittingly weird to be so intimately close to anybody, let alone a neighbor. Secondly, acknowledging the link only exposed a bunch of privacy issues.

Did Corpse sometimes overhear Missy over her phone talking to friends and family? Sure, he mostly just ignores it or puts on headphones to block it out. Has Missy overheard Corpse screaming into his microphone for a song? Most probably and guess what, she hadn’t brought it up once in the various instances they talked together.

So the gentle knock against the wall was a surprise.

“Yeah?” he called out cause he had been sitting at his computer desk for six hours straight and she probably didn’t know he was still there.

He heard on the other side, “You want food?”

_...what? _

“What?” he asked cause what time was it? Oh, it was between lunch and dinner. Or at least normal people lunch and dinner. Corpse had a shit eating schedule that can’t ever be used as a valid estimate of time.

“Food. Dinner. Lunch. Whichever, I made a lot and I’m inviting you over. You comin’?”

Oh.

She was inviting him over for a meal.

Was that...was that suspicious? She never had him over before and their current relationship didn’t warrant an invite...but then again…Corpse shouldn’t find her offer of food to be surprising. Missy liked cooking and handing out a plate was at this point normal.

“Yeah, I’ll be over,” he said.

He took a second to actually think about the situation. Was it weird? Some sort of trap? He didn’t think so. It was a little convoluted. Definitely out of the norm but...they did say they should hang out more. Maybe this was Missy’s way of extending a hand in friendship, literally opening her door in welcome.

Corpse took a shower...a day ago and the clothes he wore were a little worn but nothing too off-putting. Did he need to bring anything? Shit, what were the social rules about this? Wasn’t he supposed to bring _ -Wait! _ He does! He went to the fridge to bring out the bottle of vodka he kept forgetting to give back and this was the perfect time right? You’re suppose to bring your own drinks but he didn’t see anything inherently wrong with just giving Missy back her own liquor.

While slipping on his black mask on, he had to pause as nerves suddenly twisted inside him.

_ What if...what if this was some way for Missy to see his real face? _

He just agreed to come over to eat. Private setting. She could...ask about it. Maybe try to coax him to take it off in front of her even if he was so fucking uncomfortable with that thought. God -fucking-damnit he hated it all.

Out of spite he put the mask over his face and walked out of his apartment to go the ten feet of distance from his door to hers. He knocked softly and no sooner had he taken a step back did the door swing open, Missy already smiling and gesturing a welcome.

“I’m still melting the cheese so set yourself up at the table,” she greeted and his arm jerked out, bottle of vodka awkwardly thrust at her. She grabbed the bottle and her eyes lit up in recognition at both the brand and the amount of liquid inside.

“Sorry I kept it for so long,” he said before looking down at her feet and toeing off his own shoes.

“No problem, thanks for bringing it back. You want anything to drink? I got pineapple, orange, and cucumber iced tea.”

“Pineapple-?” His train of thought  _ ‘What the fuck is a pineapple tea? _ ’ broke as he allowed himself to look around her living room.

Well, no wonder why she always seemed to never be in her own room, all the fun was out here. If Corpse didn’t know she was a fiber artist, he would have definitely figured it out now. Along the main wall was a cubby shelf full of yarn in every size, type, and color. The corner was dedicated to the tools of her trade, racks of spools, binders and books of information, labeled needles and hooks organized right next to the array of houseplants that flourished underneath the living room window. And right where the TV should be was a desk with her computer monitors and, now that he was looking for it, her recording instruments tucked neatly away. A familiar comfy couch separated the living and dining room and he was tempted to take a seat cause it was always a feature in her YouTube videos.

But something smelled delicious, Corpse turned to the dining table and audibly gasped-

_ Taco salad night. _

Missy went all out for this.

Fresh, handmade tortilla chips piled high, carne asada glistening from delicious sauce with ground beef and refried beans on the side. The tomatoes, lettuce, cilantro, sour cream, goat cheese, mexican blend cheese, lime slices, and chopped radish displayed like a buffet for gluttons. Missy stepped out of the kitchen with a pot and ladle and he nearly cried seeing the nacho cheese making it’s grand entrance among the splendor.

“Aight,” she said while wiping imaginary food particles from her hands, “I got spicy pico de gallo in the fridge if you want that but I’m a little bitch who can’t stand jalapenos. Just grab yourself a plate and dig right in.”

She went ahead first, drawing his eye to the plates she had already set for them and building her castle. Corpse followed, leaving out much of the cheese and sour cream options but not being able to resist the nacho cheese. The pineapple tea turned out to be pineapple juice which they both foregone to drink cucumber iced tea which was delicious.

And when it was time to eat, Corpse made sure to not take his mask off first, watching Missy to see exactly what she would do.

_ She turned away. _

_ Unprompted. Unquestioned. _

They were sitting side by side and Missy just turned her whole body ninety-degrees, eating normally and not making any fuss about…

_ Wait a minute, why? _

He was grateful but...he hasn’t even explained why he always hid his own face. She never questioned it. Isn’t she curious?

“How’s the food?” she asked which prompted him to actually take a bite out of his meal and not sit there like a dumbass.

“It’s good,” he said, “Thanks for cutting back on the spice.”

“No problem, I wish I could have-” Missy went on a whole rant about possible sides and ingredients she could have used if she’d gotten her hands on it and while it was all fascinating to Corpse, he was too busy noticing…

_ Was she sunburnt? _

Yeah she was, her exposed arms were tinted pink, and now that he was looking...was that sand on her ear?

“You look a little burnt,” he commented without thinking and she laughed a little.

“I was hoping it’d be gone by now! I went to the beach today and had fun. Is it so obvious?” She turned in her seat to look at him (his face was covered by now so it was all good) and Corpse could see that the worst of the burn was just on her nose and cheeks. It was obvious that exposure to the summer sun was building up a soft tan and surprisingly a splatter of freckles across her bridge stood out.

“It’s not that bad. Just some pink and sand.”

_ “‘I don’t like sand’,” _ she said with a funny voice,  _ “‘It's coarse, and rough, and irritating, and it gets everywhere.’” _

It honestly took a minute for him to actually get the joke, long enough for her expectant expression to twist into concern. “Was that Star Wars?”

Missy gasped like she’d been shot in the chest, “Have you not-what do you mean? Yes that was Star Wars! How did you not-? Have you not seen Star Wars?”

“Not really?”

Visibly she got over the mental hurdle of never having met somebody who hadn’t seen Star Wars, going through all five stages of grief before appearing crestfallen, “I would recommend it, but the Star Wars franchise can be described as ‘A Mess’ on a good day, and that’s without including the new trilogy.”

“Is there a reason why you’re celebrating?” Corpse asked.

The clues kind of lined themselves together: treating herself to going to the closest beach, the huge food spread and inviting him over to share, the happy mood she seemed to be in. The only conclusion he could come up with was celebration and not because the Fourth of July was this weekend.

Missy smiled almost bashfully to herself, ducking her head a little before admitting, “Today’s my birthday.”

…

“What the fuck today’s your birthday and you didn’t tell me? I could have brought a gift and not a shitty rewrap of your own liquor bottle.”

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it!”

“Too late, you’ve made a big deal of it now,” Corpse said while gesturing to their plates and the leftovers before them.

She groaned in her seat and the sunburnt flush of her cheeks turned bright red from mortification. “Having you over is enough for me. I just wanted to enjoy a meal with a friend!”

Her standards for a birthday-bash was lackluster and before he knew it, Corpse had come to a decision he had been leaving on the backburner to make.

“Are you done eating?” he asked. His own plate was already finished, not having piled his own plate to skyhigh like she had, whereas her own plate had a small portion of food that was left untouched.

“I got a few bites left in me, why?”

“Finish up. We’re going somewhere.”

Corpse stood from his seat and took his dirty dishes to the sink, Missy staring in surprise before shoveling soggy chips and taco garnish into her mouth like an anxious squirrel.

“Wait a minute, where?” she asked once she put her own own dishes away, Corpse slipping back on his shoes in the living room. The couch was absolutely as comfy as she claimed in her Youtube videos.

“Surprise,” he said, unwilling to tell her anything more.

“Okay, so tell me attire. Should I wear sneakers or sandals?”

Well, he hadn’t been thinking that far ahead but he looked at what Missy was wearing now before judging, “Sneakers. And maybe a jacket?”

Ever since they’d last talked on the roof, Missy tipsy from vodka and Corpse unsure what to do with himself, he’d thought about what he wanted to do and...he’d been unsure. They talked about doing things together, hanging out outside of their fuck ups and becoming actual friends outside of their status as neighbors. He’s had an idea of what he wanted but then came the anxiety of,  _ ‘Who’s gonna break the ice first?’ _

Cause Missy had been drinking when they tentatively talked about wanting to be friends. Who knows what the hell sober Missy thought about the whole mess and Corpse had been sitting in silence, unsure whether that night had been real and if he’d have to take the first step forward.

But she made things easy.

She invited him over to eat. It was as simple as that cause now he had seen her home when it was well lived in, sat down at her table, and fixed himself a plate. The opportunity to help Missy celebrate her birthday was one he couldn’t miss.

“We’re walking?” she asked once they were outside and he guided them not towards the parking lot but to the street.

“It’s not that far from here.” She trustingly followed his lead, walking side by side with him without question and as their paces matched he found that niggling question in the back of his mind easier to ask, “You’re not going to question anything?”

“You know where we’re going and you said it was a surprise. I’m not gonna ruin that,” she said as if inquiring for more information was a prospect she couldn’t fathom.

“You’re not even going to ask about-” He gestured to his face, the ever prevalent covering half of his face and his curly black hair covering most of his forehead and brows. Corpse was self-aware of himself to know how suspicious and mysterious he always looked, most of his face obscure and body covered in dark clothing.

Thankfully, Missy seemed to get it without having him to explain himself. Her expression had turned to something serious, the tone of her voice changing, revealing a deep well of thoughtfulness.

“It’s none of my business. You have your reasons and you don’t need to explain yourself to me. You shouldn’t have to explain yourself to anybody, it’s the way you live and your reasons are for you to know and for me to just accept the way things are.”

“You’re not even curious?” he asked, as the tight knot of anxiety in his gut relaxed as he sparced through her words and the meaning behind them.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t but,” she paused, turning her head to look at him to ask, “Is it a medical safety measure? Should I be wearing a mask to protect you?”

He had no fucking idea where that came from. “What?”

“If you’re wearing the mask because of immunocompromised reasons, should I wear a mask as well to further protect you?”

Corpse would never have guessed that would be a reason she would believe him to wear a mask. It made sense, thinking about people with certain allergies, survived cancer, with Aids, on dialysis, diabetic, the list goes on. If they needed to wear a mask to protect themselves from outside variables, then Missy was thinking ahead. Maybe she was a carrier of ‘outside variables’ that immunocompromised people need to be protected from.

“No, you don’t have to wear a mask,” he said but didn’t further explain himself.

It was as she said. He had his reasons why he always wore a mask but he didn’t have to give him reasons why. Missy didn’t ask for them and maybe...admittingly, Corpse will have to come out with the truth if they actually do become good friends but as of now, no.

The walk ahead was long because while they only had to turn once, the distance was a good walk that led them out of the neighborhood and through rental-business buildings, auto shops and warehouses of construction supplies. On the way, Missy regaled him with the events of the day, riding her bike to the beach and fighting the ocean cause the waves kept coming with no breaks, three waves rolling in and a riptide pulling her along.

The sun had already gone down by the time they made it to their destination, the sky turning from it’s orange-red tint to a grey tinge that made the shadows they cast underneath the street lights eerie. The street they had turned on led them further and further away from the city noises until they were surrounded by fenced off pieces of empty land for sale and the rare car shop with dusty classic fords rusted in neglect.

The further they got away from civilization, the more Missy looked around and the quieter her voice became until it was a gentle roll, not quite a whisper, but definitely not as hyper as she had been in the beginning. When she finally caught sight of where Corpse was leading them to she tossed him an incredulous look.

“Really? We’re gonna catch a crazy on my birthday? That’s the surprise?”

Beneath the mask he grinned at her, unable to help the amusement from referencing an old joke. The place he wanted to bring her was an old church. Long abandoned probably ten years or so ago, boarded up and graffitied all over. It’s walls of sun-stripped paint bore the mark of rot and dirt, surrounded by a chain link fence and weeds that couldn’t stop a stray dog from wandering in. The building itself was simple; four walls with an A-framed roof and a bell tower missing the bell. The front door was chained shut but Corpse wouldn’t bring Missy here to just stand around.

_ He knew a way in. _

“I promise the only crazy person here is me,” he said, stepping passed the gate of the chainlink fence easily but minding his step for broken glass.

“Thank fuck I got my tetanus shot,” Missy muttered, following his lead while pulling her phone out to flip on her flashlight. The shadows were growing darker and Corpse was glad she brought out her phone when he was berating himself for not bringing a flashlight of his own. To be fair, it was spur-of-the-moment.

Corpse led her to the side where one of the boarded up windows was covered only by a loose piece of plywood, an invisible entrance from an outside view. He had to check the sill and entrance to make sure they wouldn’t find themselves standing in the midst of used needles or feces, hoisting himself inside and helping Missy when it was her turn.

Inside was church was pitch black, the only available light coming from her phone and he brought his own phone out to act as a flashlight as well. Dust drifted in the quiet stillness. His heart thumped in his chest, his ears straining to hear anything past his own breathing and blood rushing through his head. There was a strange unnameable feeling within the space, the hyper-emptiness of the church making a sense of unease crawl against his spine and Missy seemed to feel it as well because she stood as still as possible, her light slowly roving over the front lobby.

“Hey there, demons,” he whispered, “It’s me, ya boi.”

Missy snickered.

“So you don’t know Star Wars but you know Buzzfeed Unsolved?” she asked in a whisper.

“Unsolved’s funnier than Star Wars,” he defended himself.

The silliness broke the tension and though they kept quiet and careful, Corpse led them from the front lobby to the sanctuary. Upon entrance Missy gasped quietly and he turned back to witness her expression: wide eyes full of suspended awe, wonder and a kind of solemness that always seems to haunt both old churches and cemeteries.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she said, her voice giving a faint echo and he had to agree.

The church had been small, it’s pews long gone and doors missing from it’s hinges. Parts of the roof had fallen in, meager beams of soft moon and starlight casting an ambiance indescribable. Empty bird’s nests were tucked among the rafters, the graffiti was sparse and non-obtrusive as if out of respect. The back wall must have been pure stained glass but now the glass was shattered, the view of an empty field and the clear dark sky framed in glittering shards.

Corpse waited until Missy broke out of her awe, taking the few steps forward to look up and notice that the holes in the roof came from broken stained windows and she smiled glimpsing at stars twinkling past shards of glass.

“How long have you known this place?” she asked reverently, her feet dragging her to the pulpit.

“Found it last year. Couldn’t sleep one night and got really bored of lying awake so I took a walk and got lost enough to find it.”

She was smiling. Smiling her wide toothy grin and dark eyes glittered with joy. Missy turned to him and it was...you know that feeling you get after making someone happy? When you know you’ve made someone happy? Yeah, it was that. It was that but a thousand times more.

“Thank you,” she said with genuine heart in her words.

She didn’t see it but Corpse smiled behind his mask and said, “Happy Birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If y'all didn't sort of guess, I'm somewhat trying to follow the follow of time of months passing in 2019, so my birthday is just...awkwardly placed here. Don't worry, it's for a reason. I needed both Missy and Corpse to get out of the apartment building for the next chapter.
> 
> Did I get my Ao3 account suspended for a month because of a harrassment charge: yes. It was absolutely warranted, I'm not so much of a bitch not to see exactly where I went wrong there. Do I regret actually posting? No. As I've said, it was a couple months of festering rage and villainous plotting. However the consequences of my actions resulted in a temporary suspension and a forced take down of the offending post.
> 
> Learn from my mistake and never rage post online.
> 
> Just go through your villain arc and just casually dominate the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty much posting as I go, barely editing, but now there is a plan and i ain't stopping anytime soon.
> 
> Give Kudos. Drop a Comment. Subscribe if you wanna.


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